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ANNE OF ARGYLE 


Mest En5 Series, 


4 THE GRASSHOPPERS . Mrs. Andrew Dean 
^ A COMEDY IN SPASMS . . . 

ANNE OF ARGYLE . . Eyre-Todd 

^ STOLEN SOULS . . . William Le Queux 

V LAKEWOOD . . Mary Harriott Morris 


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ANNE WAS STANDING WITH PALE FACE AND QUIVERING 
LIP WHERE HE HAD LEFT HER.” — Page 139 . 


ANNE OF ARGYLE 


OR 

CAVALIER AND COVENANT 


BY 

GEORGE EYRE-TODD 

AUTHOR OF “ BYWAYS OF THE SCOTTISH BORDER,” THE “ SKETCH-BOOK 
OF THE NORTH,” ETC. 




Tr x ’1895 ' 


NEW YORK - ... 

FREDERICK A. STOKES COMPANY 

PUBLISHERS 








Copi2rf0btt 1895, 
jfrebcricft B* Stofies Company 


ANNE OF ARGYLE; 


OR, 

CAVALIER AND COVENANT. 


CHAPTER 1 . 

“ Child Rowland to the dark tower came.” 

King Lear. 

At morning service on the second last Sunday 
of June, in the year 1650, an unusually large 
audience had assembled in Glasgow Cathedral. 
Not that any irregularity was wont at that 
period to be noticed in the ordinary weekly 
attendance of douce Glasgow citizens at church. 
All persons, indeed, not incapacitated by age or 
infirmity, were under the necessity of appearing 
each Sunday without fail in their respective 
places there on pain of summons and fine by the 
kirk-session. But on this particular occasion it 
had been spread abroad that the discourse was to 
be preached by Dr. Zachary Boyd, the reverend 

I 


2 


Bnne of 


and redoubted minister of the university in the 
town, and as it was known that he had just 
returned from the Convention of the General 
Assembly then sitting in Edinburgh, it was ex- 
pected that he would have a word to say and 
pregnant news to dispense regarding the move- 
ment on foot for bringing the young Prince 
Charles to the throne of Scotland. For the 
ministers of those days, as is well known, were 
not only the spiritual admonishers and guides of 
the people, but in convocation assembled, as the 
most formidable estate of the realm, were the 
wielders of political power as well, and might 
therefore be looked upon as the most general, 
though not perhaps always, the most trustworthy, 
sources of political information. On this Sunday 
of June, therefore, in the year 1650, the people, 
attracted more, it is to be feared, by the prospect 
of hearing news, than of profiting by spiritual 
exhortations, had gathered in from many outly- 
ing parishes to hear the discourse of the reverend 
doctor ; and the incomers, adding their numbers 
to the assembly of regular attenders at the 
place, filled the cathedral church to overflow- 
ing. 

Stirring news was expected, and the staunch 
Presbyterian burgesses were all anxiety to learn 
the safeguards which, in case of the Prince’s com- 


Bnne of 


3 


ing to the throne, were likely to be taken to 
secure the permanence and domination of their 
own particular form of worship. 

Among these burgesses, however, were not a 
few who, while for prudential reasons conforming 
outwardly with the views and proceedings of 
their Presbyterian neighbors, were none the less 
anxious for tidings which should bring hope of 
some relaxation in the straightlaced order of 
things of late so rigidly enforced. By these it 
was expected that the assumption of power by 
another King Charles would bring with it some 
release from the necessity of obeying the strict 
rules of conformity laid down by the assembly of 
divines ; and their hope was therefore for news of 
the Prince’s arrival. For already that Presby- 
terian party which had signed the Solemn League 
and Covenant as a declaration of freedom of 
conscience and a protest against religious oppres- 
sion, had proved itself when in possession of 
power as rigid and intolerant as its prelatic pre- 
decessors. 

But whatever these dissenters iii the cathedral 
congregation might think -and desire, they took 
good care to make no display of their difference 
of opinion. In outward appearance they were as 
dismally garbed and as strictly conforming in 
every respect as their more sincere if less genial 


4 


Bnne of 


neighbors. The terrible fate of the great Marquis 
of Montrose and his friends was too recent for 
the most enthusiastic well-wisher of the Cavaliers 
to make more than an inward protest against the 
sombre form of dress and worship to which the 
lieges were compelled. It was therefore with no 
small amount of astonishment that, when the 
church had all but filled, there was observed to 
enter and seat himself before one of the great 
stone pillars, in full view of the congregation and 
of the pulpit, a young man in the unmistakable 
dress of the aristocratic party. 

The sanctity of the place and the strictness of 
principle of those assembled did not prevent 
a whisper going round the congregation upon 
the appearance of this person ; and while stolid 
Presbyterian elders were seen to frown heavily, 
and to cast threatening looks in his direction — 
being doubtless inclined to regard his presence 
just then as an omen of the possible advent to 
power again of the “ Malignants,” as the Cava- 
liers were called, there were not wanting secret 
glances of admiration from under the snood of 
many ..a burgess’s fair 

It was not that the color of the stranger’s dress 
marked him out for observation. This was as 
dark and as sad-toned as the dress of those about 
him. It might, indeed, have been taken for the 


Bnne of 


5 


garb of one in mourning for some near relative. 
Nor did his face, though he could scarcely be 
more than twenty years of age, wear the bright 
expression or the glow of health which usually, 
from their outdoor habits of life, bespoke the 
youth of the King’s party, and which might have 
been supposed an attraction to maiden eyes. 
His features were pale, not to say careworn, and 
in his look there was to be detected a mournful, 
weary expression strange in one so young. His 
dress, however, was of the unmistakable cut of 
the Cavaliers, and his gloves, and, when he drew 
these off, the rings which sparkled on his fingers, 
with, above all, the long chestnut hair flowing 
down upon his shoulders — vanities, every one, 
abhorred by the ascetic party in power — bespoke 
him nothing less than a Royalist and a Malignant 
of the most aristocratic type. 

Meanwhile the stranger appeared to be as un- 
conscious of the dark looks with which he was 
favored by the elders of the congregation as he 
was of the attention bestowed upon him by their 
less politically-minded wives and daughters. En- 
tirely indifferent, evidently, to the good or ill-will 
of the individuals with whom he found himself 
rubbing shoulders, he appeared to scan the con- 
gregation far and near as if in search of some one 
or something, and, apparently not having sue- 


6 


Bnne of Utg^lc* 


ceeded in his search, his features resumed their 
expression of abstracted melancholy. 

Presently, however, the speculations of the 
congregation were recalled to a more legitimate 
channel by the entrance of the minister. Clad in 
the full black gown affected by the followers of 
the doctrines and church discipline of Geneva, 
and preceded by the bedellus with Bible and 
Psalter, he ascended the few steps, and took his 
place in the pulpit. 

A man, one would have guessed, somewhat 
past middle age, there was about his eyes and 
mouth an expression of concentrated purpose 
well befitting the character of one of those church- 
men of the time, whose ambition, like that of 
Israel’s prophets of old, was as much to rule the 
nation as to teach the faith. Dr. Zachary Boyd 
was one of those ministers of whom Scotland 
then bore so plentiful a crop, who hesitated 
neither to use their pulpits nor the words of Holy 
Writ itself for the furtherance of their views of 
statecraft. 

This tendency very shortly became evident 
when his eyes had detected the representative of 
too obviously Malignant opinions who had ven- 
tured to intrude himself within the church. The 
garb of the stranger in such a place, and particu- 
larly at such a crisis in political affairs, was indeed 


Hnne of nxQ^lc* 


7 


exactly the thing most likely to call forth the 
reverend doctor’s peculiar powers of hortatory 
rhetoric. He was like the war-horse that has 
scented battle, and whatever the original purport 
of the service may have been, there could be no 
doubt that it was now inspired by very definite 
political feelings. The psalms given out to be 
sung by the congregation assumed a singularly 
warlike and uncompromising complexion, being 
chiefly such as besought the aid of Heaven against 
the proud and “ such as do lying vanities regard ; ” 
while in the prayers a sufficiently definite ab- 
horrence was expressed of alliance with those who 
openly bow the knee to Baal. But it was when 
the discourse itself was reached that the particular 
turn of the worthy doctor’s sentiments became 
most conspicuous. His text was chosen from 
that place in Scripture where the Israelites call 
aloud to Samuel, “ Nay, but we will have a king 
to reign over us.” A parallel far too obvious to 
be missed lay here, of course between the proph- 
ets who had successfully governed the chosen 
nation before the cry for a king, and the ministers 
of the Kirk in Scotland whose voice had of late 
been all-powerful in the management of State 
affairs. Details were not wanting of the success 
which had attended the warfare of these ministers 
against the enemies of Israel — that is, against the 


8 


Bnne of 


enemies of the Presbyterian form of Church 
government; and for proof of the heaven-sent 
nature of the clerical authority, had not the Lord 
but lately delivered into their hands that chief 
Malignant and troubler of the people, that Philis- 
tine of the Philistines, James Graham, called the 
Marquis of Montrose ? 

At this allusion to the capture and execution, 
scarcely yet a month ago, of the Great Marquis, 
arch-enemy as he had been to the Presbyterians, 
a visible stir of awakened excitement passed over 
the whole congregation. As for the young 
Cavalier stranger, his originally almost pallid face 
suddenly flushed crimson, his eyes flashed fiercely 
upon the speaker, and he half rose from his seat. 
But, mastering himself, though evidently with a 
strong effort, he let himself sink back into his 
place, and his features became, if anything, paler 
than before. 

Without appearing to notice this gesture, how- 
ever, or the involuntary exclamation which accom- 
panied it, the preacher went on. The hearts of 
the people, he said, hankered after a king. Al- 
ready they had forgotten how the Lord had led 
them by His prophets to triumph over their 
enemies. Already they had forgotten the tale of 
bricks, and how they had been led out of the 
Egypt of a Popish bondage; how before now 


Bnne of 


9 


they had groaned under the oppression of princes 
of this earth, till the Lord delivered them by the 
sword of the godly. But their eyes were blinded 
that they should not see, and their ears were 
stopped that they should not hear ; and now, when 
Philistines of the south, the men of Cromwell, 
pressed sore upon them, they had lifted up their 
voice again and cried aloud for the anointing of 
a king. A king, therefore, in their high places 
they should once more have, to be a scourge of 
their sins — a king of the royal house. But first 
that king must throw down the strange altars of 
his fathers, and become a partaker of the circum- 
cision with the elect ; and woe to him if he re- 
turned to the sins of his fathers ! 

After this fashion the preacher made it known 
to the worthy burgesses of Glasgow that Charles 
11. was to be allowed to assume the throne of his 
ancestors in Scotland, but only under such agree- 
ments and limitations as should make him a king 
in name rather than reality, and should leave the 
actual power as before in the hands of the Pres- 
byterian leaders. This, in fact, was the policy 
formulated by the party at whose head was the 
crafty and diplomatic Marquis of Argyle. By 
this means they thought to secure the domination 
of the Presbyterian form of Church government, 
both against the Episcopal leanings of the royal 


lO 


Bnne of %vq^Ic* 


house and the inroads of the English Independ- 
ents. In this mind, accordingly, they insisted 
upon the King’s putting apart from himself all 
such as were known or supposed to hold “ Malig- 
nant ” opinions ; and hence the denunciation with 
which the Reverend Zachary Boyd proceeded to 
wind up his sermon that June afternoon against 
Malignants of all types generally, and the Royal- 
ist Cavaliers in particular. 

Though a king should once more be anointed 
over the elect, none must be left to bow the knee 
in the house of Rimmon ; all toleration of Malig- 
nancy was but a joining of hands with the 
Delilah who should betray Israel. Wherefore it 
behoved the nation to gird up its loins and make 
diligent search, and in whatsoever high places the 
Agagites be found, let them be plucked thence, 
and, if need be, as the prophet of old hewed in 
pieces the false prophets of Baal, even so let these 
be hewed in pieces, and their flesh given to the 
fowls of the air. 

At this last denunciation, given with all the 
thunder and fire of one who had the behests of 
Heaven to enforce, the listeners seemed to per- 
ceive another allusion to the recent fate of Mont- 
rose, and a perceptible murmur of acquiescence 
overran the congregation. But the service was 
over, and after a somewhat long-winded benedic- 


Bnne ot 


II 


tion the crowd began to stream out through the 
kirkyard, which then, as now, surrounded the 
cathedral. 

With his velvet bonnet pulled low over his 
face, leaving nothing to give a clue to his thoughts 
of the moment but the pallor of his lower feat- 
ures and the tight compression of his lips, which 
his slight moustache was not yet heavy enough 
to conceal, the youthful stranger proceeded rap- 
idly towards the street. 

He was not, however, permitted to escape thus 
without attention. The soberer part of the late 
audience, indeed, despite the inspiring eloquence 
of the sermon they had just heard, would have 
let him pass with no further molestation than an 
audible observation or so upon the sin of vain 
show, and the wrath awaiting those who turn not 
their feet from the paths of the ungodly. But 
the danger of figurative eloquence in a public 
place is that it is likely to be understood literally 
by a certain part of its hearers. 

In the present instance this is exactly what had 
happened. So it came about that the young 
stranger had scarcely passed the gateway of the 
church when he was accosted by a fellow-wor- 
shipper. The assailant was one of those rack- 
brains familiar enough in every community, pos- 
sessing just sufficient method in their madness to 


12 


Bnne of 


be able to make some sort of living for them- 
selves, while smiled at compassionately by those 
around them as “half-naturals.” The stranger, 
however, could not be supposed to know all 
this, and when he suddenly found some one step 
in his way, and, with solemn remark about “ vain- 
glory in the courts of Zion,” stretch out a hand 
as if to snatch the white ostrich feather from his 
cap, the most natural thing in the world was that 
he should throw up an arm to defend himself. 
But Willie Shaw, for so the lack-wit was called, 
had been ill-advi§ed enough to bring his physiog- 
nomy closer than necessary to the scene of ac- 
tion, and the wrist of his opponent, in the sudden 
gesture of protection, unluckily caught him on 
the edge of his most prominent feature, which 
promptly spouted forth a shower of blood. 

There is but a step between the fool and the 
fanatic. In this case the sight of blood was 
enough to raise the cry that the Malignant had 
struck and wounded the “ puir nat’ral,” and in a 
moment there was as much hubbub in the cathe- 
dral precincts as if some one had been slain. 
The first man to offer violence to the stranger 
was a red-haired, yellow-eyed fellow who, rush- 
ing forward with clubbed stick, let drive a blow 
which must inevitably have at least stunned its 
victim, had the energy with which it was wielded 


Bnne of 


13 


not first taken effect in the small of a worthy 
burgess’s back, who in the sudden rush to the 
spot had been thrust rather nearer than he wished 
to the scene of fracas. With a roar of mingled 
pain and terror this worthy dropped to the 
ground, and shouted that he was slain. Others, 
however, pressed forward, and though the stranger 
seeing the bodily danger he was in, swept out his 
sword and set his back against the stone pillar 
of the gateway, things might have gone hardly 
enough with him. But the commotion on the 
highway side, and the roar of the good man who 
had so unexpectedly suffered in the small of the 
back, with the shouts of Down with the Malig- 
nant ! ” which now began to rise, had already 
attracted the attention of the town-guard, by no 
means unused to such emergencies. Several of 
this force accordingly came suddenly upon the 
scene from the castle -yard at hand, and as the 
crowd scattered to the right and left before them, 
and the young Cavalier was the only person dis- 
covered in a suspicious attitude, sword in hand, 
they did what is frequently done in such emer- 
gencies — valiantly arrested the unoffending party 
and carried him off to the lock-up. 

Explanation, in the circumstances, the stranger 
saw was useless, and perceiving, after a glance at 
their weapons, that resistance to the armed emis- 


14 


Bnne of Hcgsle. 


saries of the law could not but be disastrous, he 
suffered himself to be conducted across the some- 
what dilapidated drawbridge of what had once 
been the palace-castle of the Bishops of Glasgow. 

Once within the courtyard, however, a sudden 
recollection seemed to strike the prisoner. He 
stopped and seemed disposed to dispute his in- 
carceration. But his escort had no intention of 
permitting this, and he had only time to cast a 
hasty glance at the general surroundings of the 
place, when he was thrust through a low door- 
way and found himself a prisoner in the base- 
ment chamber of Bishop Cameron’s Tower. 

Remonstrances were in vain, and the only in- 
formation vouchsafed to his inquiries was that the 
time being sabbath, and the magistrates of the 
city engaged in the observance of the Lord’s day, 
he must needs wait till the morrow to have his 
case examined by the worshipful Bailie Light- 
body. Meanwhile, the prisoner was fain to con- 
sider it a fortunate thing for himself, as well as 
for the Royalist prospects altogether just then, 
that these rough-handed watchmen did not con- 
sider it part of their duty to inquire into his per- 
sonal effects. As it was, the donation of a gold 
Carolus or two sent the fellows off satisfied that 
they had acquitted themselves sufficiently in the 
discharge of their duty, and procured for the 


Bnne ot 


-5 


prisoner presently, notwithstanding the scruples 
as to observance of the Lord’s day, a flask of 
fair claret and a plateful of fresh-made girdle- 
scones. 


i6 


Bnne of 


CHAPTER II. 

"I ha’e layen three herring a-saut; 

Bonnie lass, gin ye’ll tak’ me, tell me now ; 

And I ha’e brew’n three pickles o’ maut, 

And I canna cum ilka day to woo.” 

Old Song, 

One of the most marked characteristics of the 
strict Presbyterians of the time of which we write 
was their stern observance of the sabbath. It 
was not that the people were in any way insin- 
cere in what they did ; the fault, if it was one, 
lay in the logical seriousness with which they 
carried out a particular form of doctrine. Tinct- 
ured with that gloomier Calvinism which insisted 
on regarding God’s fair earth as but “ a desert 
drear,” and bent apparently upon earning a future 
life by making the present one as miserable as 
possible, they carried out the letter of the Mosaic 
law to its extremest limit. Not only did they re- 
frain from touching any work whatever, even of 
the most necessary sort, on Sunday, but they 
scarcely dared to speak. When they did open 
their lips it was to discuss such cheerful subjects 


Bnne 


17 


as the doctrine of election or of original sin, and 
if a child, in the innocence of its heart, was heard 
so much as to laugh it was instantly promised 
condign punishment on the morrow, and threat- 
ened with the terrors of the bottomless pit.” 
During the hours of Kirk service the streets were 
scoured by a vigilance committee,* and any de- 
linquent found straying from the ordinances was 
attached for fine and admonition by the session. 
During the remainder of the day the heads of 
families in their dwellings, from which the sun- 
shine was carefully darkened out, employed the 
time to edification by catechising the members of 
their households. To venture abroad for a breath 
of air in the evening was an undreamed-of desecra- 
tion, and the only sound to be heard then in the 
streets was the swell and cadence of a psalm tune 
here and there from some dwelling where the 
family was engaged at its devotions. 

A most unusual circumstance, therefore, it was 
when the clatter of a horse s hoofs on this Sunday 
evening was heard coming up the Bell o’ the Brae, 

* The officers of this committee were called Compurgators, and 
were appointed by the magistrates. Their function came to a 
sudden end about the middle of last century. A gentleman then 
arrested by one of them on Glasgow Green took the magistrates 
to law, when it was decided that they had no right to exercise 
authority in that way. 

2 


i8 


Bnne of :ar0^le* 


as the upper part of High Street was called, and a 
loud rattle at his door startled the landlord of the 
Zion Inn. 

This worthy and his fortunes had shared the 
vicissitudes of the times. In the years before the 
troubles of the late King Charles, this inn had 
borne the name of the Bishop’s Arms, and, as the 
best-appointed house of entertainment in town, 
had done a roaring business with the free-living 
Cavaliers who frequented the castle, and who 
passed to and fro on affairs with the Royalist 
gentlemen of the west. But with the Civil War 
and the ascendancy of the ecclesiastical party the 
fortunes of the house had suffered change. Since 
the defeat of Montrose at Philiphaugh, and the 
death of the King, all the free-handed gentlemen 
of the royal faction had either fled abroad or lay 
crippled at home under fines of the Parliament. 
Custom had dwindled, and mine host beheld the 
cobwebs grow rather thicker than he had intended 
on his hogsheads of ripe Burgundy and Canary. 
It was in vain that he had changed the name of 
the house. The thin-blooded followers of Argyle, 
he declared, wanted no mellow vintage to help 
them in their psalm singing. And so, grown 
cadaverous where he used to be plump, and with 
the ruddy bloom which used to tinge his cheeks 
transferred to the tip of his nose, poor Spigott 


Bnne of 


19 


had fallen to a somewhat peevish humor, and 
more frequently than formerly, in absence of other 
patrons, had taken to consoling himself with the 
contents of his own cellar, for the departure of 
the “good old days.” 

Such, indeed, if the truth must be told, was his 
occupation now when he was startled by the 
“ birl ” of an unceremonious riding-whip on his 
door. 

“ Wha the deevil — ahem ! I should say,” he 
exclaimed, “ What son of the Gentiles can this 
be ? ” And setting down the tankard he was in 
the act of raising to his lips, he proceeded, with 
steps not altogether of the steadiest, down the 
low passage which led to the street. “ Wha are 
ye,” he added, before undoing the door, “ that 
comes here on the Lord’s day disturbing honest 
folk at their devotions ? ” 

“ Open the door to Neil Guthrie ; send a boy 
round for my horse; and damn your devotions!” 

“ Wi’ the greatest pleisure i’ the world,” re- 
turned Boniface, with a sudden access of energy ; 
and undoing the door and issuing out, he added 
in an accent of surprise, “ Neil Guthrie I Eh, 
man, little did I think to see you again at the 
auld Bishop’s Airms ! They said ye had been 
killt i’ the wars o’ Montrose.” 

“ Killed or alive. I’m at your door again, ye 


26 


Bnne of Brgisle* 


see. And if that boy o’ yours wad only come to 
look to my nag, I’d let ye perceive presently that 
I can strip a mutton-rib and drink a stoup yet, 
wars or no wars.” 

“ I maun e’en be stable-lad mysel’,” returned 
the landlord, a trifle ruefully. “ The Bishop’s 
Airms, or I should say the Zion Inn, has fa’en on 
ill days. But step up to the parlor, an’ help thy- 
sel’ to what’s there. His sister’s guid-son shall 
ne’er pay lawin’ in Sandy Spigott’s house. I’ll 
see to yer nag.” 

Ten minutes later the landlord hastened to re- 
join his guest. The latter, a sandy-haired, mus- 
cular young fellow of twenty-seven or so, had ap- 
parently proceeded without delay to make himself 
at home. On the table already stood a bounti- 
ful providing of cheese and bread, and a large 
quaich or drinking-cup newly emptied, while 
from the kitchen at hand could be heard the fiz- 
zling of meat being “ brandered ” over the fire. 
Whatever his vicissitudes since last visiting his 
good-uncle’s house, it was evident that the new- 
comer had not forgotten how to forage for him- 
self. 

“ Weel, lad,” cried the old man, wiping the 
harness oil from his hands with a wisp of hay, 
“ what’s come o’ ye for the last five years ? 
What’s yer news ? An’ what brings ye now to 


Bnne ot 


Si 

this end o* the country ? I wad ask ye to drink, 
but I see ye’ve fended that for yersel’.” 

“ For the last five years I’ve been on the conti- 
nent o’ Holland,” replied the young man. “ My 
news is that Prince Charles — that is, King Charles 
the Second, is landed in Moray ; and my errand 
in the toun o’ Glasgow this day is — business o’ 
my ain. As for the empty quaich, if ye are anx- 
ious to drink the King’s health never let that 
stand i’ the way.” 

“ The King’s health ! ” cried the other with sud- 
den enthusiasm. God bless him ! that we will, 
and i’ the best liquor o’ the house. The King 
in Scotland! That’s news to hear! The King 
in Scotland ! ” And proceeding to a closet at 
hand he brought forth a flask covered with 
valuable dust. 

“ His Majesty’s health ! God bless him ! ” 

The toast was drunk more than once, with this 
difference of effect, that whereas the landlord did 
nothing but drink, and so became by degrees 
more enthusiastic and less steady of hand and 
speech, the younger man merely used the liquor 
to wash down the more substantial parts of his 
meal, and was no whit affected. In this proceed- 
ing Guthrie made his refreshment serve more 
than one purpose. Taken with food in its legiti- 
mate way the wine could only render his own 


22 


Bnne of 


supper more generous, while the encouragement 
of drink served admirably to loosen the wits and 
open the secrets of his companion. 

A quiet town ye seem to keep here now of a 
Sunday night,” he exclaimed by the way pres- 
ently, as he set down his bicker ; “ not a wench 
to touch the cap to from the Drygate port to the 
door of the Bishop’s Arms ! ” 

“ Soho ! that’s the airt o’ the wind, is it ? ” 
said the landlord, leaning back in his chair with 
a look of tipsy surmise. “ They said it was the 
flichtiiiess o’ a lassie sent ye awa’ wi’ Montrose 
when he plundered the Glesca bailies efter 
Kilsyth.* Like enough it’s the thocht o’ a lassie 
that brings ye back to the Tounheid now.” 

The sturdy man-at-arms looked up with a 
defiant laugh, which was no more than half 
successful. 

“ I left St. Mungo’s five years syne,” he said, 
to see the world and seek my fortune under a 
gallant leader when I had the chance. As for the 

* Upon the victory of Montrose over General Baillie at Kilsyth, 
the magistrates of Glasgow, taking the bull by the horns, invited 
the Marquis to town. A plague was then raging in the city, and 
Montrose remained there only one night. In the morning before 
leaving he demanded and received from his hosts for the pur- 
poses of the King a sum of 50,000. His opponent Lesley, com- 
ing afterwards, took from the magistrates ;i^2o,ooo, merely the 
interest, he said, of the sum they had given Montrose. 


Hnne of 


23 


lasses, ye may know that where I ha’e been there 
were steps as light and faces as sweet as any i’ the 
Townhead o’ Glasgow. Besides, Bessie Frew, 
for it’s her, doubtless, ye hint at, was married, I 
suppose, soon efter I bade her fareweel.” 

*‘Na, lad, na; ye’re wrang there. The lassie’s 
for the seekin’ yet. No’ but what there ha’e been 
stout Gallants speirin’ at her, but she has said 
Nay to them a’. It’s as weel, though, that yer 
thochts ar’na in her direction, for Andra Frew’s 
keeper o’ the toun prison now, and for a follower 
o’ Montrose like yersel’ to step through that gate 
efter Bessie wad be to set his craig i’ the hang- 
man’s collar.” 

*^Ye forget, my worthy uncle,” said Guthrie, 
^‘that the King’s landed i’ the north.” 

“ The King may be landed,” answered Spigott, 
with a wag of the head, “ but he’s no’ at the lug 
o’ the law yet. It was but this morning that a 
braw young gentleman — his like hasna darkened 
this door for months — left his beast here, and, 
for a’ I could say, went in his plumes and ruffles 
to kirk, and the sermon wasna five meenutes 
endit when they clapt him under Andra’s lock 
and key.” 

A Cavalier gentleman ! ” exclaimed Guthrie, 
with sudden attention. “ What might his name 
be?” 


H 


Bnne of 


“ Names ar’na just the first things mentioned 
i’ these fine hing and quarter days. Everybody’s 
no’ a hair-brained Neil Guthrie that comes bawlin’ 
his title to be made immortal by the hangman 
at ilka inn door, and the young gentleman, for 
a’ his beardless face, had seen something o’ the 
warld’s ways ere this, I warrant, for there was 
a sword-cut dimple on his chin when he spoke. 
That’s no’ to say, though, but what ye’re safe 
enough in Sandy Spigott’s house, so bide where 
ye are. I’ll let ye see anither flask o’ the best 
presently, and ye’ll let’s hear yer news. When 
did the King land ? How did ye escape when 
Lesley’s men made flags and popinjays o’ their 
prisoners efter Philiphaugh ? ” * 

“I’ll tell ye that when I come back,” said 
Guthrie, rising and brushing the last crumbs of 
oatcake from his moustache with one hand, while 
with the other he took up from the table the 
light sword he had laid there on sitting down to 
eat. “Just at present I’ve a bit o’ business to 
see to. I’ll be here to help ye wi’ that second 
flask in half an hour.” And leaving his mystified 
host in a state of half-tipsy conjecture, he clanked 

* After the surprise and defeat of Montrose at Philiphaugh, 
the Covenanters confined their prisoners in Newark Castle close 
by the battlefield. Here, a few days later, contrary to the usages 
of war, these unfortunate captives were put to death. 


Bnne of Braille, 


2 $ 

through the stone passage, and let himself out by 
the stable-yard behind the inn. 

It was not for nothing that Neil Guthrie as a 
boy had scudded barefooted about the Glasgow 
streets summer after summer. In consequence 
of these mischievous roamings he now knew every 
back lane and close in the burgh, and could have 
made his way from one end of the town to an- 
other without once showing face in a main 
thoroughfare. To the same early experience he 
owed an accurate knowledge of the state of the 
walls and moat of the old Bishop’s Castle, which 
theft stood at the head of the High Street. 

After sieges and vicissitudes of many sorts, with 
a history dating from the days of the patriot 
Wallace, this fortress-residence of the bishops and 
archbishops of Glasgow had, since the Reforma- 
tion, been suffered to fall gradually to decay. 
During the episcopate of Archbishop Spottis- 
woode, it is true, in the beginning of the century, 
it had been repaired and restored to something 
of its former condition ; but by the time of which 
we write it had again become sadly dilapidated. 
To such mean uses may the most historic struc- 
ture come that this palace, which had been a 
constant bulwark of the Regency in the minority 
of James V., which had sheltered the heads of 
kings, and of churchmen sometimes more power- 


26 


2lnne of 2lrgsle* 


ful than kings, and which had been designated in 
the Privy Council Registers of Mary’s time ^‘ane 
of the principall keyis of the cuntrie,” had now 
come to be looked upon as a common quarry by 
the town’s masons, while the only part of the 
structure not entirely ruinous — the building at 
the southwest corner known as Bishop Cameron’s 
Tower — was in use as the burgh prison. 

More than once had Neil Guthrie in his truant 
days suffered castigation at the hands of the 
town officer for presuming, with like-minded 
friends, to navigate the once formidable castle 
moat upon a few deal boards. More than once 
he had escaped such a castigation by leaving his 
frail raft in the official hands and taking to the 
water itself. Accordingly, he now knew the exact 
spot at which a part of “ Beaton’s wall,” which 
had fallen outwards, could be trusted to form 
a bridge over the unsavory abyss. To this spot 
he found his way easily enough, even in the dark- 
ness, and a few seconds sufficed to find him stand- 
ing on the narrow plain-stone pavement which 
ran round three sides of the tower. 

At this point the prognostications of his friend 
the landlord of the Zion Inn ran rather closer 
than was comfortable to being verified. Guthrie 
had hardly set foot on the narrow causeway when 
a door in the tower-side immediately beyond him 


anne ot argisle. 


27 


opened, letting a flood of light from within strike 
into the darkness, while the figure of a man came 
out. Luckily, Guthrie was still in the shadow, 
and so escaped discovery ; but he recognized in 
the new-comer the burly person of the prison- 
keeper, Andrew Frew, and he had also time, 
before the latter closed and locked the door, to 
catch sight of the prisoner within — the young 
Cavalier arrested that morning. 

The trespasser waited till the heavy footsteps 
of the prison-keeper died away round the corner 
of the tower before moving, and it was only when 
he heard the heavy porter’s gate slam in the dis- 
tance that he advanced to the cell door and 
opened communications with the prisoner. There 
was an anxious and prolonged consultation, which 
apparently led to a resolve for determined effort 
to free the captive. Guthrie stepped back and 
examined the door. Originally the paved way on 
which he stood had been covered in, and by the 
passage thus formed, the ancient dungeon of the 
tower, for it was no less, had been reached ; but 
upon the covered way falling to ruins a new and 
heavier door had been furnished for the cell. 
Against this iron-studded barrier ordinary means 
of forcing a passage promised to be of little avail. 
Upon coming to this conclusion Guthrie com- 
municated the fact to the prisoner within. An- 


28 


anne of 


other plan of action was then apparently deter- 
mined on. Guthrie stepped back again, and look- 
ing up at a window in the tower wall immediately 
above, at which the shadow of a female could be 
distinctly made out in silhouette against the 
curtain, whistled softly a couple of bars of an old 
Scotch air. 

There was a movement of the shadow, the 
curtain was pulled aside, and the narrow window 
opened. 

Bessie ! ” said Guthrie, in a cautious whisper. 

“ Weel,” was the answer, in a sweet, but some- 
what uncertain voice, “ wha’s there ? ” 

“ It’s Neil Guthrie,” said that worthy, boldly. 
“ Come down here ; I’ve something particular 
to say to ye.’’ 

Now, the keeper’s daughter had driven her 
present interlocutor almost to distraction by her 
caprice five years previously, and she well knew 
it was her coquetry which had finally sent him 
to seek his fortune under the gallant banner of 
Montrose. Since that event she had begun to 
suspect that in the transaction she had been her 
own foolish enemy. Of all the town’s lads who 
had sought to “ make up to ” her since, there was 
none she could think of beside the absent 
lover. A moment before Guthrie spoke, indeed, 
she would have been eager enough to welcome 


Bnne of 


29 


his return. Now, however — such are the un- 
accountable ways of women — her old coquetry 
came back in full force, and she answered 
saucily : 

Can your business no’ wait ? It’s a late hour 
to ask a lassie out i’ the darkness.” 

“E’en bide where ye are, then,” returned 
Guthrie, carelessly, and began to make for the 
moat. 

But this was not quite what the girl wanted. 
Five years are a long time to wait for a sweet- 
heart, only to have him disappear again at a word. 
For a moment she waited, listening, but his foot- 
steps did not cease retreating, then, nearly throw- 
ing herself out of the window, she sent after him 
a piteous “ Neil ! oh, Neil ! ” 

“ Weel ? ” was all the answer returned, but the 
footsteps paused in their retreat. 

“ I’m coming doun, if ye would gi’e me time, 
but ye tak’ a lassie’s word sae short.” 

A minute or two later a light step came round 
the corner of the tower. Neil could not help 
regretting the darkness, which only half revealed 
the trim figure and half-defiant, half-reproachful 
face which came up to him. Five years ago he 
would have tried to pass his arm round that tight 
little waist, and would probably have met with 
a repulse. Now he made no such attempt, and 


30 


Bnne of 


Bessie, without knowing why, felt conscious of 
a sudden disappointment. Nothing of this was 
apparent in her voice, however, as she said, ten- 
tatively — 

“You’ve come back frae the wars, I see.” 

“ Ay, Bessie, I’ve come back to ask efter auld 
frien’s.” 

“ Oh ! ” was the reply, lightly. “ And a bonnie 
hour ye tak’ to mak’ your asking.” 

“ I thought,” Guthrie went on, steadily, “ ye 
might like to ken that I wasna left lyin’ in the 
holm at Philiphaugh, and that I’m come back frae 
Holland factor for Montrose.” 

“ Oh ! ” The voice was a little less certain 
now. “ And this is what ye maun cry me out i’ 
the darkness to tell ? ” 

“There was another thing I wanted to ask ye,” 
said Guthrie, “but that can wait.” Then he 
added with sudden irrelevancy : “ Do ye ken 
what prisoner that is ye have i’ the dungeon 
there ?” 

“The prisoners ar’na business o’ mine,” was the 
answer, in a tone not without a suspicion that the 
speaker felt she was being unfairly trifled with. 

Guthrie whispered a name in her ear. 

“Ye dinna say that! ” she cried, and springing 
to the door she made an effort to get a view, 
through the keyhole, of the captive within. 


Bnne of Brgijle. 


31 


“ Bessie,” added Guthrie, immediately, “ I want 
ye to bring me your father’s key for that dun- 
geon.” 

The key ! ” exclaimed the girl, taken aback. 

** It hangs,” Guthrie went on, “ at the back o’ 
the keeper’s door. I’ll take care that blame falls 
neither on your father nor on you.” 

“ A fine askin’ that,” said Bessie, with a toss of 
her shapely head. “ What wad there be to lippen 
to if the key was ance i’ your hands ? ” 

The word o’ the man that’s never been but true 
to ye for the last eight years,” answered Guthrie, 
adding quickly, “ But since ye canna trust your 
lealest frien’ I’ll e’en fend the matter for mysel’.” 
And turning suddenly in the darkness, he dis- 
appeared, leaving Bessie to surprised reflection on 
the change which had taken place in the character 
of her once too docile lover. 

Meanwhile the latter hastened back to the inn, 
saddled his own steed and that of the stranger, 
the only horses in the stable, and filled up his 
horn from the powder-flask of Spigott, who by 
this time lay sleeping heavily in his chair. Then 
he emptied a quaich, by way of stirrup-cup, to 
the health of his host, and proceeded as quietly 
as possible to lead the horses up the steep lane 
behind the inn. 

Presently he had the steeds fastened to the 


32 


anne of 


ring by a house door near the castle, and was once 
more climbing across the moat. 

Here a surprise was in store for him. He had 
hardly set foot again on the plain-stone pavement 
when he became conscious that the dungeon door 
was open, and that three figures were standing 
outside. These he perceived to be Bessie, her 
father, and the late occupant of the cell ; and he 
was just in time to catch the words of the prison- 
keeper. 

“ I broke bread in your father’s service,” Frew 
was saying, ** when he cam’ to Glasgow wi’ his 
tutor, worthy Master Forrett, and it would ill 
become me to see harm fa’ on that father’s 
son.” 

“ You have done a service this night to the 
royal cause and me,” the other answered, which 
I may be able presently to repay. Meanwhile I 
can only offer to you the warmest thanks, and to 
your winsome daughter this.” And at the same 
moment he pressed a ring from his own hand 
upon Bessie’s finger and a kiss on her startled lips. 
** But how,” he added, “ are you to avoid trouble 
in the morning for your prisoner’s escape ? ” 

At this moment Guthrie, with sudden alacrity, 
stepped forward. 

I’ll see to that,” he said ; and, fastening the 
door and handing the key to the astonished keeper. 



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Bnne ot 33 

he proceeded to pour gunpowder into the 
lock. 

The late captive was already making his way 
across the moat, and Frew, accepting the situa- 
tion, had withdrawn round the inner corner of the 
tower, when Guthrie, who was not hurrying his 
work, heard a sigh behind him, and a voice that 
made him stop. 

“ Neil.” 

Ay, Bessie ; ” and he turned round. There 
was a hand timidly extended to him. 

“ Good-nicht ! ” 

He took the hand. Is it good-nicht or good- 
bye? ” he said. 

** Good — nicht ! ” 

In another moment she lay in his arms, lost, 
while he took sweet vengeance on her ripe, wilful 
lips ; and this time, strange to say, she made no 
resistance whatever. 

Now run, lass,” he said, releasing her. ‘‘ Fll be 
back gin summer’s by.” 

Presently under the dark side of the wall a 
bright jet of flame shot out, and there followed 
a crash and a thunderous explosion which shook 
the five heavy stories of the tower above, as the 
cell door was blown to splinters. A couple of 
minutes afterwards the town guard, headed by 
Andrew Frew himself, came hurriedly round the 

3 


34 


Bnne of 


corner ; but by that time the two horsemen were 
spurring out of the city at a gallop on the main 
road leading towards the north. 


anne of 


35 


CHAPTER III. 

“ Edinburgh Castle, towne and toure, 

God grant thou sinke for sinne, 

And that even for the black dinnour 
Erl Douglas gat therein ! ” 

Ballad Fragment, 

For the first mile or so beyond the city bound- 
aries the two horsemen continued to urge their 
steeds at a round gallop, and it was only when all 
chance of immediate pursuit was over that they 
fell to a more moderate pace. Up to this point 
they had hardly exchanged words, but now when 
it was possible to draw rein and take breath, the 
lately-escaped prisoner turned to Guthrie, who 
from the first, it might have been observed, had 
been careful to ride half a length in the rear. 

“ You came not an hour too soon,” he said, 
and,” he added, smiling, it is not every man 
who can call down the powers above in the shape 
of a pretty sweetheart so promptly on an emerg- 
ency.” 

“ Nor, gin it please you,” replied Guthrie, 
somewhat grimly, “is it just every man that cares 
to see his sweetheart kissed before his face.” 


3 ^ 


Bnne of Brgigle. 


The young Cavalier laughed. “You must 
allow there ,was strong temptation,” he said. 
“ Moreover I must say the damsel did not seem 
over obliged by the compliment.” Then pointing 
to the left, where the chimneys of a house ap- 
parently of some consequence were just then 
visible through the trees, he changed the subject. 
“ Whose place is that ? ” he asked. 

“ The House o’ Garscube,” answered Guthrie, 
adding in an accent of wrath. “ Ane o’ the best 
manors o’ Montrose, now i’ the hands of a kins- 
man o’ Argyle.” 

“ Already ! ” exclaimed the other in a tone of 
strange bitterness ; and for some time thereafter 
he rode straight ahead without again breaking 
silence. 

At last, however, he turned to his companion. 
“ I have a desire to hear,” he said, “ what you 
know of the last attempt of Montrose, and of — 
of the end. You landed with him, I believe, in 
the north.” 

“A dark tale it is ye bid me tell,” answered 
Guthrie, “but a tale doubtless ye maun some 
time hear, so I will e’en do your bidding. 

“ Montrose, before his ain coming from Hol- 
land, as ye will be aware, sent first my young 
lord of Kinnoull to stir up the Orkneys for the 
King, then my lord’s brother wi’ twelve hundred 


2lnnc of 


37 


paid Gothenburgers, to make a landing i’ the 
same country. Nevertheless, when our frigate, 
wi’ the marquis on board, arrived, it was to find 
the gallant young earl himsel’ dead o’ a pleurisy, 
the four hundred men he had got frae his uncle 
o’ Morton sairly scattered, and o’ the twelve hun- 
dred Gothenburgers sent wi’ the earl’s brother, 
hardly ten score men, wi’ twelve brass field-pieces, 
safe landed i’ the isles. It was news to make the 
boldest o’ us blench, but Montrose only made 
haste to land at Caithness. There he set up the 
twa black mourning standards o’ the King, wi’ 
their drawn swords and severed heads, and his ain 
brave white damask banner, flying the lion ram- 
pant for Scotland. At the same time he sent out 
a proclamation calling on all the gentlemen o’ the 
country not concerned i’ the death of the late 
King to rally to the cause o’ Charles II. But 
the fear o’ the Parliament’s cruelty was on the 
cravens, and they kent, besides, the hard march- 
ing and little plunder that was to be got under 
Montrose. So it came about that, wi’ ane excuse 
and another, not a laird o’ them all brought his 
men in to help the cause o’ Montrose. Like 
enough they were waiting for another Kilsyth or 
Tippermuir ere they would mak’ the sign that was 
asked; but, whatever might be the reason first 
and last, for all the march through Caithness and 


38 


Bnne of 


Sutherland, our number wasna the better by fifty 
poor recruits. Then it was that the marquis bade 
me haste and come south. I was to raise his ain 
tenantry about Mugdock and the west, and make 
the best speed I could to meet him i’ the Seaforth 
country. It was at a glen foot in Strath Brora, 
where we had camped, that I got his order, and I 
see yet his stern look as he spoke : ^ Give my 

cousin of Fintrie this ring,* he said, and he handed 
me his signet. ‘ Tell him Montrose needs every 
Graham that can bear arms, and will look for 
them by the banks of Spey ! ’ 

That was the last word I had frae the mar- 
quis. In five days his ring was in Graham o’ 
Fintrie’s hand, but even then; though we werena 
aware at the time, Montrose was past helping. 
Word came later o’ his surprise by Colonel 
Strachan in Corbiesdale, o’ his desperate battle, 
near single-handed, forsaken by the Orkney men 
and the Gothenburgers, o’ his flight and starva- 
tion, and the black treachery of Assynt ; and 
then we knew that Montrose was i’ the hands of 
the Parliament, and that little mercy was to be 
expected frae the corbie heart of Argyle.” 

At this point in his narrative Guthrie paused, 
moved by the appearance of his listener, who 
seemed deeply affected. The latter, however, 
recovered himself presently, and though in a low 


Bnne ot 


39 

voice, bade his informant proceed. Guthrie 
accordingly resumed his account. 

“ When I saw the marquis again it was a dark 
day for Scotland and the House o’ Graham. 
They were bringing him up the Canongate cause- 
way to the Tolbooth o’ Edinburgh. It was said 
he had been brought out o’ the north clad i’ the 
peasant’s rags he was taken in, and riding on a 
shelty pony wi’ his feet tied aneath the beast’s 
belly. There were some o’ the Covenanting 
carles i’ the Canongate expected to see him like 
that, and to hoot at the fallen fortunes o’ their 
enemy. But the good folk o’ Dundee, for a’ the 
auld feud that was between them, had clad him 
i’ the best ; and never had the great marquis 
looked nobler than on the day he rode into Edin- 
burgh on the hangman’s cart. He was unbon- 
neted, and they had tied his hands that he 
mightna be able to fend his face if the rabble 
took to stoning him ; but there was only silence 
and pity as they brought him up from the Water- 
gate ; and so lofty was his look that Argyle him- 
sel’, standing at Lord Moray’s window to gloat 
ower the fallen fortune of the captive he had 
never dared face in battle, slunk back out o’ sight 
as he met his een. 

‘‘That was on the Saturday efternoon. On 
the Monday he was before Parliament, and they 


40 


Bnne of 


say he was used there shamefully. On the Tues- 
day week I saw him again. It was the last day 
o’ Montrose. None o’ his friends had been 
suffered to see him i’ the prison, but I heard he 
had been plagued wi’ ministers bidding him 
repent for sins he had never committed ; and the 
jailor had been set to smoke tobacco, a thing he 
hated, in his face, and to ca’ him dog and traitor. 
Yet it hadna been the end, even then, o’ the mar- 
quis, for some o’ us were ready there wi’ our 
lives to rescue his ; but the streets were filled 
wi ’Covenanting troops for fear o’ the townsfolk 
turning — so greatly had the crowd begun to mur- 
mur at sight o’ his gallant bearing and cruel fate. 
A gallows was set double high i’ the market- 
place, and there, so poor was their spite, they 
made him walk. Yet as he came stately up the 
street in his coat o’ fine scarlet, and silver lace, 
wi’ his ruffles and silk stockings, and his hat in 
his hand, a hush went before him along the town, 
and at sight o’ his face many were moved to tears. 
Only one woman laughed. It was the bride o’ 
Lord Lome, brought there by her gay goodman 
to see his enemy fall. Some were wondering if 
they wad suffer it, but Montrose made a speech 
at the last, a speech ye may have read, for it was 
taken down at the time. I mind the last words : 
‘ my soul to God, my service to my Prince, my 


Bnne of 


41 


goodwill to my friends, my love and charity to 
you all.’ The ministers o’ the Covenant that had 
plagued him for a week, refused to pray for him 
i’ the end, so he prayed for himsel’. Next he 
presented the hangman wi’ four pieces o’ gold ; 
and then — then he took his shameful end wi’ the 
brave dignity o’ a prince, before God and man.” 

While Guthrie proceeded with his narrative the 
young Cavalier had ridden forward in silence, 
casting an occasional glance at his informant, only 
to turn away again with a deep and painful sigh. 
When the tale was finished he remained for some 
time without speaking, buried apparently in his 
own sombre thoughts. In this way several miles 
were covered at a steady pace. Breaking silence 
at last, however, he began in an altered voice to 
make inquiries as to the temper and condition of 
the tenantry on the Montrose estates. 

“ Would they rise yet, think you, if need were,” 
he asked, for the cause of King Charles ? ” 

That,” replied Guthrie, “ is as it may be. Par- 
liament troops have been quartered on them for 
months to hinder a rising, and it might be kittle 
conjuring wi’ the name o’ Charles ; but if the son 
o’ the Great Montrose was to raise his banner ” 
— here the speaker looked significantly at his com- 
panion — every man would be out ere the sun set.” 

By this time the horsemen had passed Mug- 


42 


Bnne of argi^le. 


dock Castle, the chief seat of Montrose since the 
burning of Kincardine by Argyle ; and the bridle- 
path which they pursued, and which indeed was 
the only road then available, had begun to rise 
along the side of Dungoin, the rounded summit 
guarding the western end of the Campsie range 
of hills. Guthrie had appeared somewhat sur- 
prised as Mugdock was left in the rear with no 
more than a distant survey and a few short inqui- 
ries, and he had ventured shortly afterwards to 
ask the proposed destination of their journey. 

“ The King is in Stirling by this time,” was the 
answer ; I am in haste to rejoin him there. . If 
I ride not by the shortest road it is that I would 
set eyes once more on the fair Endrick valley.” 

It was already morning when the travellers 
reached the village of Killearn, where they pro- 
posed to rest and feed their horses, and with the 
early habits of the time the business of the day 
in the inn there had already some hour or more 
begun. The mists still lay white in the strath 
below, but here the sunshine fell warm on the 
thatch roofs of the clachan, and from the smithy 
at hand the first strokes of the anvil had begun 
to resound. 

The kine of the village, lately milked, were 
moving out with their attendant herdsman to their 
hillside pasture for the day, and the whole scene 


Bnne of 


43 


was one of such peace as the inspiration of the 
hour might have been expected to awaken. As 
the new-comers approached the doorway of the 
hostelry, however, they were made suddenly aware 
of a somewhat strident altercation going on 
within. 

Since it is thus you receive the proffered 
ministrations,” a monotonous voice was saying, 
** I will even shake the dust from the soles of my 
feet and depart from this place.” 

^‘You will shake ta tirty sole where it pleases 
you,” came the answer hotly, apparently from 
the irate landlord ; “ but you will pay Hamish 
M’Kean seven white shillin’ of lawin’ first.” 

“ But I tell thee, man of Belial,” replied the first 
speaker, “ that the laborer is worthy of his hire. 
Moreover, I am here on spiritual business, to dis- 
cover the backsliding of this people, and not to 
be at my own charges.” 

And I will tell to you you will not be here at 
my charges. Seven white shillin’, I say.” 

This was replied to by some quotation regard- 
ing scrip and wallet, followed apparently by ocular 
demonstration of the absence of these necessary 
accompaniments of travel. Then came a sudden 
yell, as the thud, thud of a fist was heard going 
into something soft ; there was a hustling and 
commotion in the passage, and a figure in a black 


44 


Bnne of Mxq^Ic. 


coat, hatless, and with terror stamped on every 
feature, came flying head and heels, propelled 
vigorously from behind, out of the inn doorway, 
to land on all fours among the horses’ feet. 

The figure of the landlord appeared on the door- 
step immediately behind — a stout, irate little man, 
in a kilt and an old buff jerkin, the spoil probably 
of some expedition of the late wars. 

“Tak’ tat,” he shouted, shaking his fist at his 
late guest, “you tat would sup and sleep in an 
honest man’s house, and pay ta lawin’ wi’ a pless- 
ing ! ” Then, perceiving the new arrivals, he 
changed his tone readily. “ What will be your 
pleasure, shentlemen ? ” he said. “ Will you be 
pleased to come in ? ” Then he nodded towards a 
gypsy-looking youth chewing a straw at hand as 
he stared at the strangers. “ Ian will take ta 
shentlemen’s horse.” 

While their steeds were being baited with what 
provender the inn stable contained, and the young 
Cavalier and his companion regaled within upon 
such fare — cold mutton, oatcake, eggs, and brown 
ale — as could hastily be put upon the table by the 
half-dressed, half-frightened, and altogether in- 
quisitive maid, some renewal of the recent alter- 
cation could be heard going on outside. Now and 
again it would die away, only to be renewed by 
a querulous sort of supplication couched in script- 


Bnne or 


45 


ural language, which was met by sharp retort in 
the vigorous if somewhat curious accent of the 
landlord, as, apparently, he came and went. 
Presently, therefore, when the Cavalier, having 
paid the bill, sauntered to the door to breathe the 
fresher air outside, and wait for the horses, he 
was not greatly surprised to set eyes again upon 
the individual whose undignified exit he had 
witnessed an hour ago. 

The latter, to judge from his appearance and 
method of speech, was one of these hangers-on — 
adventurers, who in all ecclesiastical periods have 
proved only too ready and able to extract a liveli- 
hood out of the religious vogue of the day. In 
the present instance, unfortunately for himself, 
the self-constituted missioner seemed to have 
miscalculated and overstepped the area of the 
particular influence upon which he depended. 
The Biblical phraseology and half-ecclesiastical 
appearance which would have been enough just 
then to procure him not only profound respect 
but free entertainment in the neighborhood of 
Edinburgh or Glasgow, were neither regarded nor 
understood on the borders of the wild Highlands. 
He was seated now, disconsolate, a short way 
from the inn door, on a heap of dried turf or peat, 
the ordinary fuel of the place at that time ; and 
so sorry, apparently, was his plight that he did 


46 


Bnne of 


not hesitate to appeal to the new-comer, Malignant 
though he would doubtless at another time have 
called him, whom he now saw appear on the scene. 
Advancing with a somewhat grudging obeisance 
he made known his case. 

“Young sir,” he began, “I make bold to ask 
the offices of a stranger, albeit of another per- 
suasion I, a humble son of the Covenant ” 

“ A minister of the Kirk, you would say ? ” 
interrupted his interlocutor, with a comprehensive 
look. 

“ N-nay — that is, not an ordained minister, but 
a humble missioner of the cause, Aaron Crook- 
shanks by name, come hither to spy out the ini- 
quity of the land, who is made to suffer unjust 
deprivation — that is, the reavement of a three- 
pound beast and its apparelling, in the house of 
the Amalekites.” 

At this point the little landlord, appearing upon 
the scene, broke fierily in with — 

“ He will be speaking about his horse to 
ta shentleman, but he will not be speaking 
about ta seven shillin’ of lawin’ he hass not to 
pay.” 

“ Nevertheless,” returned the stranger, whom 
by mutual consent the two seemed to appeal to 
as judge, “a three-pound horse and harness 
appear a large amercement for so small a sum- ■ 


Bnnc of 


47 


therefore, landlord, upon my advice, you will let 
Mr. Crookshanks have his animal — but with the 
condition that if ever he appear again in this 
corner of the country, spying out iniquity or any- 
thing else, he shall lose, not only his horse, but 
something much dearer to him — his skin.” 

At the same time the speaker with a whisper 
wrought a sudden and wonderful change in the 
demeanor of mine host. Seizing the hand of 
his guest, the latter knelt and kissed it in ecstasy. 
Then dashing quickly into the house he brought 
forth his wife and daughter, who went through 
the same ceremony with every sign of awe and 
reverence. The landlord, moreover, seemed un- 
able to say enough to express his feelings of 
affection and devotion, and the honor that had 
been done his house. Mr. Crookshanks, mean- 
while, between gratitude for the unexpected turn 
of circumstances in his favor, astonishment at 
the mysterious means by which that turn of cir- 
cumstances had been accomplished, and alarm at 
the threat with which the offer of relief had been 
accompanied, appeared also to have some diffi- 
culty in suitably framing his thanks. 

But by this time the travellers’ horses had been 
brought from the stable, and, mounting amid the 
portentous whispers of the crowd which had 
suddenly gathered at the spot, the Cavalier anc^ 


48 


Bnne of 


Guthrie were presently descending at leisure the 
hill slope to the north of the clachan. 

By this time the morning mists had quite risen 
from the valley of the Endrick below, and the 
river could be seen winding its way through the 
holms of its wooded strath to lose itself in the 
waters of Loch Lomond some four or five miles 
to the westward. These blue waters themselves 
lay in sight, studded with bosky islands, and 
winding away among the sunlit passes of the 
mountains. Nearer hand, in the sylvan strath 
towards which the travellers were descending, 
azure wreaths of peat smoke could be seen rising 
peacefully here and there from clachan and shiel- 
ing, themselves hidden from view among the 
woods. A fair scene it was in the early June 
morning, this country of the Graham, with its 
brown heath and flashing waters, its sunny past- 
ures and its mountain walls.* But apparently it 
was something more than mere scenery to the 
foremost of the two horsemen riding down from 
Killearn. He paused for a moment before turn- 

* Families of the name of Graham already, so early as 1650, 
occupied a large part of the Lennox, from the Endrick eastward 
to Stirling, as well as southward by Campsie and Mugdock. 
But it was not till 1682 that the country at the Endrick’s mouth, 
where now stands the chief seat of the Duke of Montrose was 
purchased by the noble head of the race from the creditors of 
the last chief of Buchanan. 


Bnne of Brsisle. 


49 


ing his back upon the valley, as the road trended 
away to the right toward Stirling. His cheek 
flushed and his eye glistened at the sight, and 
when at last he recalled his thoughts, there was a 
stronger purpose, a bolder resolution in his air. 
Exclaiming half to himself, “ It is a country 
worthy of a gallant lord ! he touched his steed 
to a nimble pace, and added aloud to his com- 
panion, We must be in Stirling before noon.” 

Almost immediately, however, occurred an in- 
cident characteristic of the place and time, which 
not only produced a striking effect in the pros- 
pects and feelings of the speaker, but which re- 
quires a certain amount of explanation. 

4 


Bnne ot Bcggle. 


50 


CHAPTER IV. 

** Berry-brown ale in a birken spale, 

And wine in a horn green, 

A milk-white lace in a fair maid’s dress 
Looks gay in a May morning.” 

Ballad. 


So late as the beginning of the present century, 
the shortest route between the Argyleshire High- 
lands and Stirling or Edinburgh carried the trav- 
eller along the southern shore of Loch Lomond. 
It was the customary route then followed by the 
judges of circuit passing periodically to and from 
Inverary. Portions of a road made by General 
Wade in the middle of last century for conveni- 
ence of military transit with the West are still in 
use there ; and still, about the time of the autumn 
trysts, droves of shaggy cattle from the remote 
parts of Islay and Cantyre are to be seen making 
their way along that shore to the great central 
gathering at Falkirk. All Scotsmen are familiar 
with the doggerel rhyme which immortalizes the 
most effective pacifier of the Highlands : 


Bnne of 


51 


“ If you had seen this road before it was made, 

You would hold up your hands and bless General Wade.” 

The particular road of which we speak was 
not, it is true, one of the most difficult parts of 
the general’s undertaking, but it forwarded its 
builder’s purpose of pacification as much probably 
as some of his more arduous engineering efforts. 
Especially, by increasing the possibilities of rapid 
travelling, it lessened the risks of attack and 
plunder by the wild caterans of the neighboring 
hills. In the year 1650 this was by no means 
the least common contingency which befell trav- 
ellers passing through the Lennox, as the district 
was then called. While they toiled painfully and 
with care along the rude winding track amongst 
peat bogs and mossy springs, which was all the 
road then existing, an excellent opportunity was 
afforded the inhabitants of the mountains above, 
who still recognized only the law of the ancient 
coir a glaive, or right of the sword, to descend 
and levy blackmail at their pleasure. These facts 
will explain to some extent the circumstance 
which now suddenly attracted the attention of 
our two horsemen as they made their way into 
the valley. 

The riders were about to turn into the track 
which led due east towards their destination, when, 
behind a belt of natural birchwood which had 


52 


Bnne of 


hitherto hidden the bottom of the descent, they 
heard a quick succession of shouts, followed by 
the discharge of a firearm and the shriek of a 
female, and almost at the same instant they came 
in sight of the scene of commotion. 

The situation was obvious at a glance. A lady 
with her escort of men-at-arms had been surprised 
under the side of a woody knoll ; one of her attend- 
ants already lay motionless on the ground, other 
three were on the point of being overpowered by 
their assailants, while the lady herself was strug- 
gling in the grasp of a fellow who only too plainly 
was endeavoring to carry her off. The horsemen 
were near enough to perceive that the lady was 
young and dressed in a style which, apart from 
the appearance and size of her escort, declared 
her to be of no mean rank. These particulars, 
however, were hardly necessary to ensure im- 
mediate assistance at the hands of the Cavalier 
who had just come within sight. The first quick 
perception of the situation was enough, and with 
a sudden exclamation of “ To the rescue, Guthrie ! ” 
he urged his steed towards the spot with all the 
haste of which the nature of the ground would 
permit. 

His follower appeared in no way so eager to 
take up the cause of the distressed damsel. His 
eye, shrewder to note particulars than that of his 


Hnne of 


53 


companion, had already observed the dress of the 
attacked party. It’s the Campbell tartan ! ” he 
called out warningly. “ Little should we be its 
help, of all folk i’ the world ! ” and drawing bridle 
he appeared willing to let the struggle be decided 
without interference. But in another moment, 
perceiving that his remonstrance was either 
unheard or unheeded by the ear to which it was 
addressed, with an exclamation of dismay he struck 
spurs into his horse, and shouting out “ A Graham ! 
A Graham to the rescue ! ” dashed rapidly after 
his leader. 

The appearance of two additional combatants 
thus suddenly upon the scene quickly altered the 
situation of affairs. The would-be ravishers, per- 
ceiving themselves overmatched, at once dropped 
the assault, and picking up the arms and plaids 
they had thrown down upon beginning the attack, 
made off among boggy hollows, where they 
were not likely to be pursued. One only of the 
assailants continued to persevere after the at- 
tempt had been abandoned as hopeless by his 
companions. That member of the attacking party 
who had seized the lady, and who, from his dress 
and the eagle’s feather in his cap, appeared to be 
of rank superior to the rest, now lifted her in his 
arms, and stepping over the quaking bog upon the 
tufts or hussocks of grass which here and there 


54 


Umc of Brsijle. 


afforded a precarious footing, began coolly, with 
the agility of a practised mountaineer, to make off 
with his booty towards the hills. The moment 
was critical. It was impossible to shoot, as owing 
to the rapidity of his motions the shot might harm 
the spoiler less than his burden. In another 
moment he would have borne that burden beyond 
reach ; and the young lady, herself perceiving 
her imminent danger, shrieked aloud. 

Help, however, was at hand. Spurring his horse 
to the gallop, in a couple of bounds the young 
Cavalier had made up with the fugitive. Grasp- 
ing the latter by the collar he dragged him down 
upon his back in the morass. Upon this, the 
Highlanders in front perceiving the danger of their 
leader, one of them turned, and taking deliberate 
aim, discharged his piece. The shot took effect 
in the breast of the Cavalier’s horse, which instantly 
lost its footing and floundered in the moss. At 
the same moment, however, as his steed sank to 
the girths, the Cavalier himself sprang from the 
saddle, and seizing the fair burden from the arms 
of his discomfited antagonist, quickly retraced his 
steps to solid ground. In a few seconds the poor 
horse, struggling and screaming, sank out of sight 
in the moss, and the overthrown Highlander would 
quickly have shared its fate had he not known 
how to avail himself of the hussocks of rushes and 


Bnnc of Brgslc* 


55 


coarse grass within reach. As it was, he recovered 
his footing with difficulty ; and only pausing to 
cast behind him a glance of wrath not unmingled 
with apprehension, betook himself with what speed 
he might to rejoin his comrades, who were soon 
in full retreat with him towards the hills. 

The whole transaction had not occupied more 
than a minute from first to last, and it was a 
curious feeling of agitation with which, now that 
the impulse of the exploit was over, the rescuer 
found himself supporting in his arms the form of 
his fainting prize. Before his flush of conscious- 
ness had time, however, to pale into a look of 
alarm at the state of his charge, he was accosted 
by a withered dame, apparently the young lady’s 
attendant, who now managed to pick herself up 
from the green bracken at hand. 

With a blessing in Gaelic, strangely qualified 
by a fresh look of distrust and alarm at the person 
who had proved so effective a friend at need, she 
took the maid from him, and placing her upon 
a mossy bank, proceeded to make use of the simple 
restoratives of the spot. At the same time, 
Guthrie, coming close up to his leader, broke in 
with the suggestion — 

“ We had as weel be passing on, gin it please 
you. Doubtless the young lady will be safe 
enough wi’ these gallant riders now ” — this in a 


Bnne of 


S6 

somewhat contemptuous accent loud enough for 
the gallant riders to hear ; ‘‘ the road is far yet to 
Stirling, and the morning wears.” 

The dame looked up from her office more 
brightly at the suggestion. 

“Yes, indeed,” she exclaimed, energetically, 
“ the road hence will be safe enough for us, as the 
young man has said, though it might not be long 
safe for one so polite as himself. We will not 
be keeping you from your journey ; and for 
the service that has been done my mistress it 
should be enough to know that it has been 
done the daughter of — of one who can richly 
repay it.” 

Here the good woman’s eager oratory received 
a sudden check. The young maid, the object of 
her solicitous precautions, having given some pre- 
monitory symptoms of returning consciousness, 
had apparently caught the drift of the last words 
said, and, with suddenly returning color, now raised 
herself from the bank of turf on which she had 
been laid. 

“ My father, nurse Maisie,” she said, “ will not 
attempt to repay the service that has been done 
his daughter. For that,” and she turned to her 
deliverer with a blush, “ I can only offer you my 
own and my father’s gratitude. But,” she added 
quickly, “ you are in haste to reach Stirling, and 


Umc of Brggle* 


57 


we have already delayed you, I fear, too long ; if 
you will make use so far of the horse of my poor 
fallen trooper, I will see that a worthier steed is 
sent to replace your own immediately upon our 
arrival.” 

“ The road is dangerous yet,” answered the 
Cavalier boldly, oblivious of the significant looks 
of his henchman, and the number of your troop 
diminished by one. You will not ask me, I hope, 
to leave my enterprise half-finished ; and as for 
thanks, if any were needed I should be well repaid 
by your permitting me to join your company to 
Stirling.” 

As this proposition, in the circumstances, could 
not without discourtesy be rejected, and more- 
over as the young lady herself, though apparently 
somewhat embarrassed, did not seem to be alto- 
gether displeased with it, the party, leaving two 
of the troopers to perform the last offices for 
their fallen comrade, were soon remounted and 
pursuing their journey eastward. 

They had not proceeded far when Guthrie, disap- 
proving apparently of the company in which he 
found himself, and riding in the rear of the party, 
heard the clatter of horsehoofs behind, and look- 
ing back perceived the person of his fellow-guest 
of the morning at Killearn Inn — Mr. Aaron Crook- 
shanks, mounted on a sorry, shambling nag. 


Bnne of 


58 ' 

making eager, if somewhat ludicrous, endeavor to 
come up with him. 

“ Hold hard ! ” exclaimed the stout yeoman as 
the jolting missioner galloped up. “ There’s work 
waiting your cloth in the wood ye’ve passed. 
Didna ye see a stout caitiff asking your reverend 
service there ere they buried him ? It’s but a 
furlong’s ride back to your office.” 

What ! ” gasped the new arrival between fear 
and breathlessness, as he reined in his steed, 
“ what a bloodthirsty country is this, that a peaceful 
son of the Covenant should be brought to sojourn 
in it ! A threat of flaying alive after breakfast, 
and a man to be buried before noon ! You mis- 
take the office of the Kirk, young man. Her 
mission, differing from the idolatry of a false Baby- 
lon, lies not with the dead but with the 
living. Moreover, I am in haste particularly to be 
hence.” 

“ So it wad seem,” answered Guthrie with a 
grim humor. The air o’ the Lennox appears 
to suit your complexion but indifferently.” 

‘‘ The air of the country savors in my nostrils 
as of blood,” replied the other. “ And indeed I 
would that, before leaving the entertainment of 
that worthy sister in the faith, Mrs. Murdoch in 
the Netherbow, to spy out the iniquity of this 
land of Moab, I had fully bethought me of the 


Bnne of 


59 

manifold dangers to be encountered in the coun- 
try of the Malignant, James Graham.” 

“ In this country,” returned Guthrie, hotly, 
“ that noble martyr is called the Marquis of 
Montrose, and ye’ll take my counsel, Mr. Mis- 
sioner, or whatever your precious spy-work be- 
hoves ye to be called, and bate ugly titles to the 
name o’ Graham till ye’re safe again among your 
sisters i’ the faith. I’ve seen a better carcase 
than yours left to the daws ere this for a less word 
than ye’ve just said o’ the Great Marquis — in his 
ain country.” 

Heaven defend me ! ” cried Crookshanks in 
alarm. “ It was but an idle word that I spoke, 
I would have you assured, and without harmful 
meaning. And, indeed, wherefore should I lift 
up my voice in testifying against him who has 
already suffered for his apostasy? ” 

“ What ? ” thundered Guthrie in a voice which 
nearly made the tactless missioner jump out of 
his saddle — which at any rate made him whiten 
to the lips as he hastened to explain — 

“ Nay, I but spake unadvisedly with my mouth, 
and I crave your pardon for the word.” 

It was only after a pause that he added ner- 
vously, keeping his eye on the hand which Guthrie 
had shown himself quick to sweep to his sword- 
hilt— 


6o 


2lnne of 


It is impressed upon me that I have not yet 
offered thanks to the youth who delivered me 
lately from the hands of the man of Belial. I 
will even now ride forward and acquaint him with 
my gratitude.” 

“See you not,” growled Guthrie, glancing for- 
ward to the head of the little cavalcade, and ap- 
parently deriving small pleasure from the pros- 
pect — “ see you not that the youth, as you make 
free to call him, is at this moment employed a 
deal better to his taste? Yet ride forward gin 
ye will ; it may weel be that your brave and 
saintly discourse wad profit him better nor the 
sweet poison his father’s son is at this moment 
lippening to listen to.” 

The object of these animadversions had now 
for some time been riding at the head of the 
party, in company with the heroine of the morn- 
ing’s adventure. To judge as near as may be, 
the latter might be between seventeen and 
eighteen years of age. Neither while she lay 
fainting on the bank, nor now as she swayed lightly 
on her steed, could exception have been taken to 
the grace and symmetry of her form. Added to 
these, her softness of complexion and refinement 
of feature, bespeaking great delicacy of nurture, 
and, above all, a singular sweet sincerity of ex- 
pression, revealing the character within, fitted her 


Bnne of 


6i 


peculiarly for the dramatic part she was destined 
to play in the inner history of Scotland at that 
time. Her manner possessed at once a gracious- 
ness and a simplicity which might be derived re- 
spectively from her high birth, and her youth, 
while the slight conversation upon which she ven- 
tured with her recent rescuer, bore about it a cer- 
tain touch of inexperience which at the same time 
completed its charm, and in an ambitious and 
scheming age suggested possible danger to its 
possessor. 

All these details and others, though hardly in 
such ordered form, her companion had had time 
to note as he rode by her side ; and it did not es- 
cape the observation of the jealous duenna who 
kept close behind, that the young Cavalier ap- 
peared more interested than prudence might have 
warranted in the company of her charge. The 
circumstance of the morning alone prevented her 
direct interference, and she was fain to content 
herself with the precaution of keeping within 
earshot, as near to her young mistress as possible. 
But it was with a distinct feeling of relief that at 
last she beheld the precipitous mass of the castle 
and rock of Stirling begin to rise in front. 

The sight of their approaching destination ap- 
peared to strike the senses of the Cavalier and his 
companion at the same time. For a brief space 


62 


Bnne of 


the talk which had been passing between them 
dropped, as if both had been impressed with the 
momentous nature of the circumstances with 
which they were about to find themselves sur- 
rounded. Nor is it to be marvelled at if that 
feeling was mingled half consciously with some- 
thing of regret at the near termination of their 
journey. 

It was the Cavalier who at last broke silence. 
“Yonder walls,” he said, “ by this time hold the 
destinies of Scotland.” 

“ I have been told,” returned the maid, “ that 
Prince Charles is to meet the lords of the Parlia- 
ment in Stirling. They say he is a gallant Prince. 
It may be that his coming will make the spilling 
of blood to cease.” 

“ Would then that his coming had been a month 
ago ! ” ejaculated the young man with sudden emo- 
tion. “ So might have been saved some of the 
bravest hearts about the throne.” 

“ You mean the Marquis of Montrose and his 
friends ? ” answered his companion. Then after a 
pause, in which she noticed strangely the young 
Cavalier’s emotion, she added slowly in a low 
voice, “ That was a great man truly, though they 
say he shed much blood in his lifetime. He 
spared my foster-brother once in the midst of 
a battle.” 


Bnne of Btflisle. 


63 

As he listened, there passed over the features 
of the young man a glow of deep fervor and 
the light of a strong and sudden passion. 

** Lady,” he exclaimed in a voice which trem- 
bled with feeling, “ you have spoken a gentle word 
of Montrose. For that word my last service is 
yours for life or death, and with that service is all 
my heart.” 

At these hot words the eyes of the two met 
for a moment. A lovely flush overspread the 
maiden's face, from the fair throat to the smooth 
fair brow, and there were tears visible on her 
lashes as she slowly dropped her gaze ; but she 
made no reply. 

Just then the cavalcade reached the gates of 
Stirling. Slowly they rode up the main street, 
an officer of the escort, which now closed about 
their young mistress, leading the way. Up the 
causeway they passed to its head, and there, in 
Castle Wynd, paused at last before the gateway 
of a mansion of the first consequence, which is 
still standing to be seen.* 

♦ This mansion, one of the most beautiful and interesting 
specimens of Scottish baronial architecture, was built in the 
early part of the seventeenth century by Sir William Alexander 
of Menstrie, created Earl of Stirling by James VI. — one of the 
most elegant poets of the period, and a friend of Ben Jonson and 
Drummond of Hawthomden. It was afterwards purchased by 
Argyle. 


64 


Bnne ot 


With no willingness had the progress of the 
party been followed so far by Guthrie, in sight of 
the townspeople and strangers of all sorts who 
then crowded the place ; and when the company 
stopped at last where it did, he muttered, with 
lowering brows : “ Just as I foreboded. The very 
lodging o’ Argyle ! ” 

At the sight of their place of stoppage the face 
of the young Cavalier himself had first flushed a 
dark crimson and next as suddenly paled to the 
whiteness of ivory. It was then that, having 
sprung from his steed and assisted his fair com- 
panion to dismount, he made bold at last to as- 
certain her name. 

“Ye have had the privilege, young sir,” 
broke in the nurse with dignity, eager to 
assert the rightful pride of her master’s house 
— “ ye have had the privilege to do some 
slight service at her need to the Lady Anne 
Campbell, daughter of Archibald, Marquis of 
Argyle.” 

“ Peace, nurse ! ” said the young girl. Then, 
turning to her protector, she asked : “To whom 
am I to tell my father that we owe so deep and 
lasting a debt of gratitude? ” 

The features of the young Cavalier were pale 
as marble, and his lip quivered as he was about 
to essay a reply, when Guthrie, pushing to the 


Bnne of Uxq^Ic* 65 

front, with less delicacy than vindictive assertion, 
furnished the information desired. 

Ye have this day, lady, profited at the hands 
of him who should now be called the Marquis of 
Montrose.” 

S 


66 


Bnne ot Uxg^lc* 


CHAPTER V. 

“The king sat in Dumferraline toun, 

Drinking the bluid-red wine ; 

‘ O where will I get a skeely skipper 
To sail this ship o* mine ? ”’ 

“ Sir Patrick SpensP 

In order to understand the situation at the 
Court of Charles II. in Stirling, it is necessary to 
recall one or two preceding events of the history 
of that time. 

During the confinement of Charles I. in Caris- 
brooke Castle, that unfortunate monarch executed 
a private treaty with the Scottish Commissioners, 
by which he undertook, in return for the support 
of the northern kingdom, to establish Presbytery 
and confirm the Articles of the Solemn League 
and Covenant. This treaty, on being presented 
to the Scottish Parliament, occasioned a sudden 
and fierce division there. The more moderate 
party, called, on account of their acceptance of the 
treaty, the Engagers, declared themselves satisfied 
with the concessions of the King, and prepared to 
support his cause. This party was headed by the 


3anne ot 


67 

Duke of Hamilton and his brother, the Earl of 
Lanark. The stricter Presbyterians, however, 
who composed the majority, declaimed loudly 
against any further effort being made in the 
cause of the distressed monarch, asserting, with 
much scriptural quotation, that the concessions 
of Charles were not enough to warrant the up- 
lifting of the sword. At the head of this major- 
ity was the timid, but pious and crafty. Marquis 
of Argyle. 

The Engagers, making an effort, raised a non- 
descript army of some fifteen thousand men, which 
under the command of Hamilton, marched into 
the north of England. This nobleman, however, 
proved himself a most incompetent general, and 
after loitering away more than forty days use- 
lessly in Lancashire, was met by Cromwell near 
Warrington, where, without an effort at resist- 
ance, he allowed his troops to be dispersed, and 
himself presently surrendered to the enemy. 

By this catastrophe the party of Argyle was left 
in uncontrolled majority at the head of affairs in 
Scotland. Already, upon the disbanding of Mon- 
trose’s army, the Presbyterian leader had all but 
exterminated some of the clans, such as the Mac- 
dougals and Laments, who had been supporters 
of that general. He now called his followers to 
arms, and made himself master of the Highlands. 


68 


Bnne of 


At the same time the west-country divines, de- 
claring triumphantly how they had prophesied 
the downfall of the Engagers, and drawing many 
pertinent lessons from the dallying of Samson 
with Delilah, proceeded to Edinburgh at the 
head of the peasantry, in what was called the 
Whigamore’s Raid, and added their weight to 
Argyle’s assumption of power. 

The reader is already aware of the abortive 
later effort of Montrose. The chief of the Gra- 
hams was of all men he whom Argyle had reason 
to fear. Three times had they met in battle, 
and upon each occasion had MacCallum More 
fled shamefully before the face of his enemy. 
When that enemy accordingly fell at last into 
his hands, it was not to be expected that much 
mercy should be shown him. With Montrose 
perished the last opposition to Argyle in Scot- 
land. 

This was the position of affairs when Charles 
II., having concluded the Treaty of Breda with 
Commissioners of the Scottish Parliament, sailed 
from Holland, and landing near the mouth of 
the Spey, proceeded to Stirling. Here he was 
now lodged, with sufficient state, if without 
much actual power, under the eye of the great 
Presbyterian marquis. 

When, in the circumstances indicated at the 


Bnne of 


69 

close of our last chapter, the young Cavalier, 
whom we may now call by his rightful title of 
Montrose, had taken leave of his fair companion 
of the morning, and had rested and refreshed 
himself somewhat at a convenient hostelry, he 
proceeded on foot, attended by Guthrie, to the 
lodging of the Prince. It was partly, no doubt, 
in consequence of the fatigue which he had re- 
cently undergone, and the loss of the previous 
night’s rest, that his face, as he was ushered now 
into the royal presence, exhibited a particularly 
worn and haggard look ; but there was also an 
excitement mingled with the dejection of his air, 
apparent in a hectic flush of cheek and brow, 
which did not escape the notice of Charles. 

The latter was alone at the moment. On a 
large table in the apartment lay several rolls of 
official papers, and the materials of writing ; but 
in these the King appeared to be taking little in- 
terest. Holding back the heavy curtain, he was 
watching from the window with an amused smile 
the evolution of relieving guard just then being 
methodically performed by the grim-featured Par- 
liament soldiers below. 

He turned quickly as his visitor was announced, 
and as he dropped the curtain and window from 
the high window-seat, the general appearance of 
his person could be made out. 


70 


Bnne of Brgslc. 


A young man of not more than twenty years 
of age, slightly over middle height, he was 
dressed in a suit of black velvet, being still in 
mourning for his royal father. The only details 
with which this sombre garb was lightened were 
the white lace ruffles falling from collar and 
wrists, and the gold buckles which shone on his 
satin shoes. To his face but little exception 
might have been taken. His features were reg- 
ular and sufficiently comely, and his eyes ex- 
pressed liveliness and feeling. Perhaps, however, 
a student of character might have remarked some 
lack of resolution in the shape of the chin, and a 
certain love of ease and pleasure in the curve of 
the mouth. 

“ My Lord of Montrose,” he hastened to say 
with a gracious smile, as the young nobleman en- 
tered, “ I am glad to see you here. When the 
door opened I feared the return of some solemn 
fathers of the Assembly who have been favoring 
me with their company and most learned dis- 
course for the last hour.” 

‘‘Your Majesty,” returned the new-comer 
gravely, with a deep reverence, “ I am happy 
to greet you at last in your rightful seat, the 
ancient capital of your royal House.” 

“To tell the truth,” replied Charles, with a 
peculiar smile, “ between the weighty exhorta- 


Bnnc of 


71 


tions of my Presbyterian divines and the fatherly 
counsels of my precious Lord of Argyle, I had 
half begun to wish myself well out of this ancient 
capital of mine. I had begun indeed to think 
with some regret of merry Paris and the pleasant 
gardens of the Hague. But now that our good 
Montrose has come we will make other matters 
to think of. There are bright eyes and laughing 
lips in Scotland yet, I dare warrant, and it need 
be no hard task to add something to the fame of 
the Goodman of Ballengeich.” * 

“Your Majesty will not, however, I trust,” 
answered Montrose, “ be without a more serious 
field for my poor services.” 

“ By no means,” said the King, more gravely ; 
“ there is like to be work enough for peer and 
gentleman before Charles Stuart sits firm on the 
throne of Scotland. But — it was no more than 
an idle fancy — it seemed to me this moment that 
our trusty cousin of Montrose might already 
be conscious of a subtler allegiance. There is a 
look which a man wears when he has either wine 
or woman in his head.” 

At the suddenness of this sally, and perhaps 
also at its shrewdness, the young nobleman 

* James V., it will be remembered, was under the incognito of 
“ The Gudeman o’ Ballengeich,” the hero of many romantic ad- 
ventures in the neighborhood of Stirling. 


Bnne of 


72 

flushed a little. At the same time he could not 
refrain from a smile. 

‘‘ Of wine,” he said, ** I have tasted not a sip 
since last night, when I lay in the town dungeon 
of Glasgow ; and with the fairer part of your 
Majesty’s subjects, I have had no dealings — that 
is, excepting ” 

“ Even so,” returned the King, laughing at the 
obvious confusion of his guest. It is as I 
thought : the exception in this case is fatal.” 
Then suddenly assuming seriousness, he changed 
the topic. It was to ascertain the temper of 
the country that you took upon you the trouble 
of this journey,” he said, and there was a scarcely 
perceptible shade of anxiety on his face as he 
spoke. “What say our gallant Grahams* and 
the gentlemen of the west ? ” 

“ In the west country, I fear,” answered Mont- 
rose, “ the party of the Kirk hold everything in 
their own hands. The few loyal gentlemen whose 
means remain to them after the expenses of the 
late levies and the fines of the Parliament, dare 
stir not an inch, for the most part, from fear of 
the common people, who hold the power, and who 
are ruled entirely by their ministers. I have here, 

* “ Gallant Grahams ” was the alliterative sobriquet for Mon- 

trose’s clan, as “ gentle Johnstons” was that of a well-known race 
on the Borders. 


Bnne of 


73 


however, the assurances of some persons of con- 
sequence who are still able and willing to proffer 
further service to your Majesty. That they say 
they will do, to their last bonnet-piece and the 
last drop of their blood. But the letters will set 
forth their abilities and loyalty to better effect 
than my poor words.” 

And Montrose took from the pocket of an 
inner vest a packet of letters — the possible dis- 
covery of which by the warders of Glasgow prison 
had been the chief risk and anxiety of his arrest of 
the previous day but which, trusting partly to the 
ambiguity of their contents, and partly to his own 
chances of escape with them intact, he had hesi- 
tated to the last moment to destroy. These he 
handed to Charles. 

It distresses me beyond words,” said the 
King, as he took the packet, “ to hear of the con- 
dition to which so many brave houses have been 
reduced by adherence to the royal cause. It 
is a game, however, which must be played out, 
and I trust yet to recompense for their suf- 
ferings the worst-used of my loyal Cavaliers. Of 
these there is one at hand,” and Charles looked 
significantly at the young nobleman before him, 
“ who has not been the least to suffer, and who 
must be first to taste the return of the royal 
fortunes.” 


74 


Bnne of 


“ My liege,’’ returned Montrose, coloring slight- 
ly, “ believe me, the house of Graham has ever 
served the throne from loyalty of affection, and 
has deemed itself sufficiently rewarded by the 
trust and honorable regard of the King.” 

Upon these words Charles looked steadily for 
a moment at the speaker. Perhaps there flashed 
across his mind a misgiving that the house of 
Stuart had not always held the best of faith with 
the lords of Montrose. Perhaps there was in his 
thought the fact that but a month earlier he had 
sent the greatest of the Grahams to make war 
upon the Parliament in the north and to find a 
shameful death in his cause, while he himself had 
been secretly engaged in treating with that Parlia- 
ment, and was even now keeping discreet silence 
regarding the judicial murder it had committed. 
But there was no shadow of such a thought in the 
eyes of the young nobleman before him ; and as 
he recognized the loyalty that remained true to 
the King, in face even of the doubtful faith of 
that King himself, there flashed across the features 
of Charles such a look of sincere affection as 
never before perhaps had found expression there, 
and perhaps never would find expression there 
again. 

“ Montrose,” he said, apparently deeply moved, 
as he took the young marquis’s arm and drew him 


Bnne of 


75 


to the window-seat beside him, it is one of the 
bitter ingredients in the cup of him who wears a 
crown that he knows not, among all those who 
surround and flatter him, whether, apart from their 
own interest, he possesses a single friend. At 
this moment, however, I am assured that there is 
one at least in whom I may entirely trust — that 
there is true affection for his Prince, as well as 
entire loyalty to the Crown, in the heart of the 
Graham.” 

“ My liege ” Montrose was proceeding to 

reply, when he was interrupted by the King. 

It is even so,” said the latter, I am assured. 
And indeed,” — here he rose from his seat and 
took some steps across the floor, though he was 
careful to keep the pitch of his voice low enough 
to reach only the ear for which the words were 
intended — indeed, it appears to me that the son 
of the royal martyr betrayed at Newcastle, and 
the son of the loyal nobleman done basely to 
death in Edinburgh, have common cause against 
one ambitious foe. Yet it seems there are dif- 
ficulties in the way. In the east country, I have 
been informed, my lords of Parliament and the 
ministers of Assembly are but tools of one crafty 
traitor ; and to the west, you tell me, it were vain 
to look for a weapon.” 

So please your Majesty,” said the young 


76 


Hnne ot 


nobleman, with sudden enthusiasm, “ there is still 
one resource. Bid me unfurl once more the ban- 
ners of the King and of Montrose, and let it be 
known that Charles himself fights under the royal 
standard. In a day every Graham will be under 
arms, and in a week there will be such a loyal 
army in the Highlands as will sweep Parlia- 
ment and Assembly, and the traitorous ambi- 
tions behind them both, altogether into the 
Tweed.’ 

Upon the proposal, made with such energy and 
enthusiasm, that he should himself take up arms 
and trust to the gallant clansmen of the north to 
free the Crown from the present compulsion and 
indignity which were being put upon it, the fire 
of enterprise sparkled for a moment in the eye of 
Charles. He hesitated, and appeared almost to 
entertain the thought ; but in the pause he had 
time to recollect the personal effort and perhaps 
hardship which such an undertaking would 
imply, and it was with a measured voice that he 
answered. 

“ It is a suggestion worthy the son of the Great 
Montrose,” he said. Meanwhile there lie less 
desperate remedies nearer to our hand. It may 
well be that the spinners of treasonous nets are to 
be caught in their own weaving. The attempt 
may at least be made. Should it fail, there will 


Bnne of 


77 


still be the claymores of our willing Grahams to 
trust to ; and to Montrose himself, be assured, his 
King will then look for his last defence against 
the ambition of Argyle.” 

Throughout the interview, it may be under- 
stood, the feelings of the young Cavalier had 
been of a curiously mixed description. It would 
be idle to deny that the experience of the morn- 
ing, the character and person of the young girl 
into whose company he had been thrown in suffi- 
ciently romantic circumstances, had affected him 
powerfully. There had been about the affair and 
its heroine exactly that air of gallantry and mys- 
tery likely to excite a tender interest in the breast 
of one ^f the sterner sex ; the young nobleman’s 
sympathies had been touched at their most vul- 
nerable point by a chance remark of his fair com- 
panion ; and the final discovery of her parentage 
had been an incident suddenly investing the rela- 
tion of the two with the subtle element of tragedy. 
Moved at the same time by a loyalty which through 
long education had become an instinct, and pos- 
sessing the best of all reasons in the death of his 
father for hating the name of Argyle, he was 
drawn strongly to agree with the King in his 
denunciation of that statesman’s designs. Pro- 
found and conflicting motives like these, it may 
easily be believed, rendered their possessor pecu- 


Bnne of 


78 

liarly sensitive to the words of Charles, and per- 
haps it was well that the latter, having assured 
himself of the loyalty and support of the repre- 
sentative of the powerful name of Montrose, now 
saw fit to assume a lighter tone. 

‘‘ It was a slighter cause, I trust,” he said, 
which occasioned your visit last night to the 
town prison of Glasgow ; a succor to some fol- 
lower in need, perhaps ? ” 

Montrose smiled. “ It was by no free will of 
mine,” he said, “ that I made acquaintance with 
the dungeon of the Bishop’s Castle. The worthy 
burgesses of Glasgow only break the Sabbath 
when there is a Cavalier to arrest. After a slight 
disturbance, not at all of my seeking, at the kirk 
door, they would have me wait the pleasure of 
some worshipful bailie who was not to be dis- 
turbed at his meditations, and I was fairly in the 
way of spending the night in no very comfortable 
quarters, when a stout henchman found me out, 
and whistled a good fairy upon the scene in the 
person of the keeper’s daughter, who by and by 
set me on the open causeway.” 

“ For which fair service,” laughed the King, 
“ the released prisoner doubtless made ample 
amends. But surely this was never the fair one 
on whose account Montrose was forced to make 
embarrassed exception but lately ? ” 


Bnne of 


79 


At this question, put point blank, though 
in a vein of raillery, the young Cavalier be- 
came suddenly grave again, and reddened some- 
what. 

“ It is right your Majesty should know,” he 
said, that this morning I had the fortune to 
rescue from marauders in the Lennox, and to 
escort afterwards to safety in Stirling, no less 
a person than the daughter of the Marquis of 
Argyle.” 

** Ha ! ” exclaimed Charles, looking up quickly 
with displeasure and surprise. The daughter of 
Argyle in ^tiding ! ” Then, in a lower voice, as 
if to himself, he added, “ this bodes some new 
scheme, no doubt, of the arch-plotter. Let him 
beware when he fences with such delicate weapons 
that the foil pierces not his own skin.” Turning 
again to the young nobleman, he said gravely, “ I 
thank you, my Lord of Montrose, for the timely 
knowledge. And now,” he added, I will detain 
you no longer from the refreshment which you 
doubtless need. Meanwhile be sure the interests 
of his friends are not less near than his own to the 
heart of Charles Stuart.” 

Upon this assurance and permission, Montrose, 
not perhaps without relief that the interview was 
over, bowed and retired. 

Not many moments after his departure, when 


8o 


Bnne of 


the young King, with a look of anxiety mingled 
with menace on his brow, had thrown himself 
into the gilt leathern chair by his writing-table, 
the door again opened, and the gentleman-usher 
announced the Marquis of Argyle. 


Bnne of Uxq^Ic, 


8i 


CHAPTER VI. 

“ My mither’s aye glow’rin’ ower me.” 

Sco^s Song. 

As Charles looked up from the abstracted mood 
into which he had been thrown by the communi- 
cation of his la'ne visitor, he was approached by 
a person of somewhat remarkable appearance. 

The Marquis of Argyle was then about fifty- 
two years of age, though it might have been 
difficult to make anything like an approximate 
guess from the keen and shifting expression of 
his features. Clad, out of deference to the situa- 
tion of the Court, in black, when he threw back 
the cloak which hung from his shoulder there was 
revealed a spare, wiry figure of medium height, 
moving habitually with an air of diplomatic cau- 
tion. The long, shaven face, with its puckered 
muscles and ample brow, might indicate at once 
capacity and shrewdness, while the compressed, 
unctuous mouth and straight chin declared a 
silent tenacity of purpose ; but an air of entire 
uncertainty and craft was conveyed by the sharp, 
6 


82 


Bnne of Brssle* 


squint eyes, a peculiarity of feature which has 
made its owner remembered to the present day as 
the “ glied marquis.” Such was the outward ap- 
pearance of the singular dexterous, energetic, and 
secret, and at the same time physically timid 
nobleman, who, at the period of which we write, 
with greater power than had ever been possessed 
by the Albanys or Douglasses of earlier times, 
held the affairs of Scotland silently in his grasp. 
This was the nobleman who, when Lord Lome, 
and threatened with disinheritance by his father, 
had induced Charles I. to enforce an old Act 
against Papists, and compel that father to assign 
at once to his son all the estates and honors of 
Argyle. At the last meeting of father and son in 
the royal presence the old earl is said to have ad- 
dressed the monarch : “ Sire, I know this young 
man better than you can do. You have brought 
me low that you may raise him. I doubt you 
will live to repent. He is a man of craft, subtlety, 
and falsehood, and can love no man; and if ever 
he finds it in his power to do you mischief, he 
will be sure to do it.”* There had not been 
wanting those who saw in the betrayal of Charles 
I. by Argyle’s Presbyterian troops at Newcastle 
a fulfilment of this bitter prophecy. 

* The incident is related in Dodd’s “ Struggle of the Scottish 
Covenanters.” 


Bnne of 


83 


It was with a curious mixture of fatherly patron- 
izing and courtier-like submission that the Pres- 
byterian leader now made his way towards the 
table at which the young King was seated. 

The latter rose graciously to receive him, and 
it was without a trace of his recent abstraction 
visible that he motioned him to a chair at hand. 

“ My Lord Marquis," he said, it was but this 
morning we had the advantage of your attendance 
and counsel on matters of State. I trust it is no 
new complication of affairs which occasions the 
renewal of our interview." 

“ I was glad to perceive as I came in," an- 
swered Argyle, “ that your Majesty was busied 
with the papers prepared by Advocate Warris- 
toun. It was of these that, with a zeal of earnest 
service to the throne, I returned to inquire." 

** To speak the truth, my lord," returned the 
King, somewhat briefly, “ I have but lightly 
glanced at the documents. It would appear that 
Parliament and Assembly together desire more 
than an ample expression of our goodwill." 

As he spoke the King cast a look, which in 
reality was his first, at the rolls of parchment be- 
side him. While he did so his visitor watched 
him narrowly. At the same time the latter hast- 
ened to forestall, so far as himself was concerned, 
any adverse expression of royal feeling. 


84 


Bnne of 


The declarations as first drafted/’ he said, 
‘‘ were still more express in statement ; but I will 
confess that out of consideration for a Prince, 
whom indeed I have not been the least mover in 
bringing to this kingdom, I used what small in- 
fluence I possess to have them modified.” 

“ Then, my lord,” said Charles with ominous 
steadiness, keeping a place on the parchment 
with his finger as he looked up, “ I am to under- 
stand that all here contained has the sanction of 
Argyle ? ” 

Nay,” answered the wary courtier, quick to 
perceive danger imminent, and provide accord- 
ingly, “ not so. I would have your Majesty to 
understand me as being but the messenger by 
whom the expression of your Majesty’s subjects 
was conveyed, and no whit compromised there- 
in.” 

“ It is well,” returned the King with some dila- 
tion of the nostril and a slight curl of the lip. 
“Ill would it become the noble who owed so 
much to our royal father to offer words like these 
for our signature. You are aware of those words, 
my lord ? ” 

Argyle rose and, following the finger of Charles 
on the parchment, read a sentence with which he 
was already perfectly familiar : “ That these per- 
sons herein named, known as chief instruments of 


Bnne of 


8s 


the late King in his malignant and sinful opposi- 
tion to the people of God, do forthwith remove 
from the royal presence upon pain of escheat and 
impeachment as contemners of the Estates in con- 
vention assembled.” The document included the 
names of more than twenty distinguished royal- 
ists, the most immediate adherents of the Court. 
Among the names of such men as Bucking- 
ham, Hamilton, and Lauderdale, appeared that 
of the “ son of James Graham, lately Marquis of 
Montrose.” 

“ Already,” said Charles, as Argyle resumed 
his seat, “ we have yielded to admit to the royal 
household the chaplains appointed by the Com- 
mission of Assembly. It is not an hour since 
they intruded their unasked ministrations upon 
us here. To that, if needs be, we can submit, 
but never shall we stoop to sign a decree of an 
import so disloyal as this, let the Estates resolve 
as they please.” 

Argyle bit his lip. This was a measure upon 
which he had largely depended to alienate from 
the royal cause such councillors as he most feared. 
By creating a breach between the young King 
and his chief friends he had hoped to bring the 
monarch still further under his own power. He 
was aware that the Stuart dynasty still had suf- 
ficient hold upon the popular affection of the 


86 


Bnne of 


country to make it an impossible policy openly 
to coerce the throne. Part, therefore, of the 
policy of the party of which Argyle was the head 
lay in alienating this popular affection by proofs 
of the King’s perfidy, so bringing him more and 
more to depend upon themselves and to be the 
mere tool of their ambitions. The hope of the 
party for the present lay in representing to 
Charles, what was little more than fact, that the 
entire conviction of the country was bound up 
with the Presbyterian principle as set forth in the 
Articles of the Solemn League and Covenant, 
and that the only hope of his secure settlement 
on the throne depended upon his supporting 
that principle. It was with this object in view 
that the marquis now proceeded to renew the 
colloquy. 

‘‘I do not doubt that your Majesty has ex- 
amined the contents of the second writing lying 
at your hand. The royal assent was most anx- 
iously desired to these, the Commission of As- 
sembly and the Committee of Estates laying it 
upon me solemnly to urge that the security of 
the throne itself, which God defend ! and the 
peace of your Majesty’s kingdom, altogether 
depend upon this signing.” 

** If it be no less disgraceful to the royal name 
and the royal honor than the first,” said Charles, 


Hnne of 


87 


laying his hand upon the parchment, while he 
glanced sternly at Argyle, “ it is needless to un- 
roll it here.” 

The latter hastened to reply — 

It but conveys the royal assent to the Nat- 
ional Covenant of 1638 and to the Solemn League 
and Covenant of 1644, and expresses the King’s 
willingness to accept the advice of the Estates in 
all civil affairs, and the ruling of the Assembly in 
ecclesiastical matters, while ” 

“In other words, my lord,” interrupted the 
King, “I am asked to sign away the hereditary 
rights of the throne of Scotland, to assume 
the name of King without a vestige of the 
power which alone makes the kingly title re- 
spected.” 

“ I would crave to remind your Majesty,” re- 
turned Argyle, “ that no more is now submitted 
to your hand than was submitted by the com- 
missioners at Breda, whereto, we were made 
to believe, the royal signature was willingly ap- 
pended.” 

“At Breda,” replied Charles, somewhat haught- 
ily, “ our signature was added to no such explicit 
statements as these, and you forget, my Lord of 
Argyle, that whatever might have been the terms 
of the letters in which we were then pleased to 
make known our mind, they have been openly 


88 


Bnne of 


disavowed and declared non-binding by the Con- 
vention of Estates itself.” 

The face of the young King during this inter- 
view had exhibited a changing variety of expres- 
sion — from the keen glance with which he had 
looked up when his visitor was first announced, 
to the flush with which he rebutted that visitor’s 
last veiled insinuation. The face of Argyle, on 
the contrary, remained inscrutable as ever. Long 
accustomed to be his own sole councillor, and to 
attain his ends even amid the most adverse cir- 
cumstances by a diplomacy which was only pos- 
sible to one of entire coolness and self-possession, 
he was not to be drawn into a betrayal of feeling 
even under the strongest provocation. It could 
not but be galling to such a temper as his to find 
his most cherished schemes, on the very point of 
attainment, threatened with destruction by the 
resolution of the royal youth whom he had ex- 
pected to find the most pliant instrument for his 
purpose. No one, however, could have gathered 
so much from the expression of his features as he 
returned to his point. In this respect the prac- 
tised party leader is like the skilful gambler who 
plays card after card without betraying by the 
movement of so much as a muscle how near he 
may be to the verge of bankruptcy. 

“ Your Majesty should be made aware,” Argyle 


Bnne of Broijle* 


89 

resumed, with hardly a pause, “ that the desire of 
the Estates of Parliament, unanimously expressed 
that such a declaration should receive the royal 
signature, was not without good and loyal reason. 
It is well known that the levies of the English 
sectaries are already being directed toward the 
Scottish border, and that General Fairfax has 
been ordered to assume command with a view 
to prevent your Majesty’s peaceful settlement on 
the throne of Scotland. At such a juncture it 
will be obvious that every effort must be put 
forth to smite the followers of false prophets and 
maintain the sacred right of the anointed House.” 

“ It is not for the first time,” said Charles, 
“ that a Stuart king has had to fight for his king- 
dom, and be sure that, when the need comes, the 
present bearer of the name shall not fail in the 
example of his fathers.” 

“ But a king,” returned Argyle, “ albeit the 
most valiant, may not descend single-handed 
against the hosts of the Edomites; and it is 
greatly feared that, without King Charles s ex- 
press declaration that their rights as set forth in 
the National Covenant and in the Solemn League 
and Covenant shall be confirmed, the majority of 
the Scottish nation will refrain from girding on 
their arms in the royal cause.” 

'' In plain words once more, my Lord Marquis, 


90 


anne of 


we are to understand that the Presbyterians of 
Scotland, of whom the Marquis of Argyle is known 
to be the leader, may refuse to take up arms in 
the cause of King Charles, except upon certain 
conditions. My lord, we would remind you that 
such action, even the threatening of it, is known 
by the name of treason.” 

My liege,” exclaimed Argyle, with a haste 
which was for once hardly compatible with entire 
self-possession, “ I spoke but as a councillor of 
the crown, and in nowise declaring my own in- 
tentions, which in all things are loyal to your 
Majesty? ” 

The young King gravely refrained from a smile. 
He perceived that the marquis had been 
startled out of his habitual self-control by a touch 
upon his weak point — bodily fear. But he went 
on — 

“ Of your loyalty, my lord, I am sufficiently 
assured ; I will trust your lordship therefore to 
understand me when I say that it can form no 
part of my policy to purchase the support of any 
political party by placing the lives and estates of 
my friends under that party’s power.” 

Here a cloud passed across the face of Charles 
himself. He was thinking of the fate of Mon- 
trose. Without a pause, however, he proceeded : 

“ I am aware that a certain faction in the 


Bnne of Uxq^Ic* 


91 


Estates of Parliament, as well as in the General 
Assembly, are disposed treasonably to refuse sup- 
port to the throne excepting upon such terms 
as appear in these declarations ; but I am also 
informed that that faction is largely in the hands 
of the Marquis of Argyle, to whose declared 
loyalty I think we may trust to bring his friends 
to a better understanding. These gentlemen of 
the Presbyterian following may not have consid- 
ered one point — that their form of worship and 
government is likely to fare much more stiffly at 
the hands of the English sectaries than at the 
hands of a king who will owe them favor for their 
loyal support. My lord, we commit the instruc- 
tion of the Presbyterian party in this particular 
to yourself, not doubting the result. In case of 
their being convinced of their true duty and ad- 
vantage by your able reasoning, I would remind 
you that the royal house has not been wont to 
stint its favors to those whom it recognizes as its 
friends. The service may present some difflculty 
but it will be of certain value to the Crown and 
to the kingdom, and it will not be beyond the 
royal reward. When Charles Stuart sits securely 
upon the throne of this country it lies with you, 
my Lord Marquis, to decide whether there shall 
be a Dukedom of Argyle.” 

At the conclusion of this speech it was appar- 


92 


Bnne of 


ent that the King had judged accurately of the 
jointing of his opponent’s harness. Notwithstand- 
ing that, under the keen gaze of his Prince, Argyle 
made every effort to retain an appearance of com- 
posure, it was evident enough that he was strongly 
moved. His pale complexion grew perceptibly 
paler, his eyes glistened like a miser’s when he 
touches gold, and it was a moment before he 
found words to reply. At the very point at which 
the mature plans of his ambition seemed baffled 
by the failure to coerce the King into becoming 
a mere tool of the Presbyterian party, he was as- 
tounded at the new and more brilliant vista 
opened out before him by the hand of that King 
himself. Recovering himself instantly, however, 
though with an effort, he hastened to assure 
Charles of his entire loyalty and support. After- 
wards he proceeded by degrees to discuss with 
the King the measures which might be used to 
conciliate the various sections of the Scottish 
Presbyterians, as well as the methods which should 
be taken to confuse the councils and disarm the 
efforts of the Independent party in England who 
menaced the peaceful settlement of the Crown in 
the north. 

The hour was late when the marquis at last 
left the royal apartments, and as, attended by 
his esquires and henchmen, he made his way by 


Bnne of 


93 


torchlight to his stately mansion in Castle Wynd, 
there were a hundred new threads of diplomacy, 
to meet the new circumstances of the case, already 
spinning in his brain. But above all these — so 
rapidly does ambition grow by what it feeds on 
— beyond even the glittering prize which had 
been held out to him by Charles, there arose a 
yet more dazzling vision, and, if his firmly com- 
pressed lips had been wont to mutter his thoughts, 
at that moment they would have declared his 
ambition to concern the Lady Anne. 


94 


Bnne of 


CHAPTER VII. 

“ A king can mak’ a belted knight, 

A marquis, duke, and a’ that ; 

But an honest man’s abune his might. 

Gude faith, he mauna fa’ that.” 

Robert Burns. 


Late as the hour was when Argyle returned 
from his audience with the King, his household 
was still astir and waiting for him. Link-boys 
and hangers-on outside the doors, and the train of 
domestics and armed retainers whom his natural 
timidity induced him to keep about his person 
within, all sprang up alert and attentive upon the 
whisper of his appearance. For whatever the 
suavity and self-restraint of the marquis in public 
affairs, his immediate attendants had reason to 
know that in private his displeasure was apt to 
find expression in fiery and destructive outbursts, 
and that any derogation of respect or duty de- 
tected in a follower by those sharp cross eyes 
was certain to count, sooner or later, to the de- 
linquent’s cost. 

Upon the present occasion their master cast no 


Bnne ot Bcgigle. 


95 


more than a hasty glance at the preparations 
which were made to receive him, and bidding his 
marshal of the household see to it that the en- 
trances were made fast, and that the usual guard 
was set, he was about to retire to the small 
cabinet chamber in which he was accustomed to 
arrange affairs of business or State, when the 
gray-headed functionary reminded him that his 
chaplain, the Reverend Mr, John Nevoy,* was 
still waiting to conduct family worship. 

Bid Mr. Nevoy,” answered the marquis, in 
a somewhat abstracted tone, proceed with the 
ordinances as he sees fit at this late hour ; but 
tell him I would be excused from profiting by 
his breaking of the Word at this time. I have 
still pressing matters to see to, and must entrust 
myself to-night with my own devotions.” 

With this, Argyle entered his cabinet, closed 


* Dr. Guthry in his “ Memoirs ” narrates how, when the fort of 
Dunavertie, in the West Highlands, held by the Macdonalds of 
M’Coll-Keitach, followers of Montrose, received quarter and sur- 
rendered to Argyle and David Leslie, this “bloody preacher, 
Mr. John Nevoy, prevailed with the general to break his word; 
and so the army was let loose upon them, and killed them all 
without mercy. Whereat David Leslie seemed to have some 
inward check ; for while the Marquis and he, with Mr. Nevoy, 
were walking over the ankles in blood, he turned about and said, 
‘Now Master John, have you not at last gotten your fill of 
blood ? ’ ” 


96 


anne of UxQ^le* 


the door, and, spreading a number of papers on 
the table, proceeded to make from them a series 
of careful notes and several lists of names. He 
was not long suffered, however, to remain un- 
disturbed in this occupation, and it was with a 
gesture of annoyance that, hearing a heavy foot- 
step approach, he hastily covered with a blank 
foolscap the paper upon which he was writing. 
As he glanced up, the door opened without cere- 
mony, and there appeared a lean figure clad in 
black — a man of hard feature, with stiff, iron-gray 
hair, bristling eyebrows, piercing gray eyes, and 
with prejudice written in the drawn pursing of 
the mouth. This individual made no pretence 
of courtesy to the presence in which he found 
himself, and, without waiting to be invited, at 
once proclaimed his errand. 

“ Woe,” he exclaimed, in a peculiarly strident 
voice, “ woe to them that forsake the assembling 
of themselves together ! Their house shall be 
dashed in pieces like a potter’s sherd.” 

“You had my message, Mr. Nevoy,” said 
Argyle, prudently suppressing his displeasure. 
“ Wherefore at this hour do you disturb my pri- 
vate communings? ” 

“ Wherefore ? ” answered the intruder, rhetori- 
cally. “ Wherefore was Elijah the Tishbite sent 
down to meet Ahab, King of Israel, in the vine- 


Bnnc of 


97 


yard of Naboth ? Lo, are not the mighty fallen, 
when he who yesterday was the leader of the 
host of the chosen, is found already forsaking the 
ordinances of the tabernacle ? This it is to hold 
communing with the Amorites, whom the Lord 
cast out before Israel. Verily, that communing is 
as the touching of pitch. Wherefore I am come 
to warn thee, Argyle, lest thy house be made 
like the house of Jeroboam, the son of Nebat, 
and like the house of Baasha, the son of Ahijah.” 

Argyle perceived from these words that his 
part in bringing about the recent return of the 
King, and the closeness of his relations with 
Charles since that event, had already awakened 
his chaplain’s suspicions. At the same time he 
was aware how important to his plans was the 
retention of the entire confidence of the Rev. 
Mr. Nevoy and his like. Accordingly he was the 
more willing to appease the jealous temper of the 
rigid churchman. 

Believe me, Mr. Nevoy,” he said, “it was no 
idle humor to-night which induced me to forego 
the refreshment of your ministrations. These 
have been blessed to me too often hitherto to be 
lightly considered now. Pressing affairs — the 
safety of the Church, the security of the State — 
call for consideration.” 

“ Yet would ye put your trust in the arm of 

7 


2lnne ot 


98 

flesh ? ” returned the chaplain with zeal, though 
secretly somewhat mollified by the marquis’s 
style of address. Did not the walls of Jericho 
fall down neither by the carnal arm nor by the 
might of princes, but by the blast of the seven 
rams’ horns and the shout of the chosen people ! 
And shall not the same thing in these latter days 
befall the enemies of the elect, provided the elect 
forsake not the ark of the covenant, and join 
not themselves with the forces of the Amorites ? 
Wherefore I would inquire whether this young 
man, the Prince of this earth, who has been ad- 
mitted by the elders into the camp, has yet par- 
taken of the circumcision — has thrown in his lot 
with the covenanted people ; or whether he per- 
sists in clinging to the sins of his father and the 
idolatries of his mother’s house ? ” 

Argyle at these words cast a keen, calculating 
glance at his interrogator ; but the chaplain un- 
blenching, met the look with a gaze of bold and 
stern inquiry. 

It was with material and opinions of Mr. 
Nevoy’s sort as weapons, that the Presbyterian 
battle against the Independents of the south was 
presently to be fought. The dominant party in 
Scotland was at that time ruled by its ministers^ 
who insisted in taking upon themselves the func- 
tions of the Jewish prophets of old. Not com 


Bnnc ot 


99 


tent with instituting a minute inquisitorial system 
upon the most private life of the people,^ they 
arrogated to themselves a right to dictate in the 
policies of the nation and in the conduct of armies 
in the field. As they continually wrested texts 
and used the authority of Scripture to support 
that dictation, it may be understood that the task 
of their statesmen and generals was by no means 
an easy one. A similar disposition on the part 
of the forces under Cromwell is said to have 
been met by him with the shrewd double order to 
“ trust in God and keep their powder dry^' and 
that general was powerful enough to overrule 
matters always by his own strong worldly sense 
and iron hand. But on the side of the Scottish 
Presbyterians the same overruling does not ap- 
pear to have been possible, and perhaps it was 
never attempted. The comparative merits of the 
two systems appeared in the issue. Argyle him- 

*The books of kirk-sessions still extant declare how the 
members were exhorted to discover and report the scandals in 
their several districts. The contemporary historian, Kirkton, 
may be quoted : “ Every minister was to be tried five times a 
year, both for his personal and ministerial behavior ; every con- 
gregation was to be visited by the presbytery, that they might 
see how the vine flourished and the pomegranate budded. And 
there was no case nor question in the meanest family in Scotland 
but it might become the object of the deliberation of the General 
Assembly.” 


100 


annc ot atfislc. 


self doubtless was sufficiently acquainted with 
the stiffness of the material with which he had 
to work to attain his end. But he had already 
been able to make that material serve his purpose 
in acquiring power. The scriptural incitations 
of Mr. John Nevoy himself, to “ slay and spare 
not,” had been useful enough when a feudal 
enemy was to be rooted out and destroyed. So 
perhaps the marquis thought the tool could still 
be made serviceable to his design. Lacking the 
physical courage and rugged force of character of 
the English Protector, he chose to rule by craft, 
and by this, for a time at least, he had marvellous 
success. 

In the present case, recognizing the advisa- 
bility of retaining his chaplain’s confidence, and 
through it the confidence of the orators of the 
Church, he unbent so far as to inform Nevoy 
that though the King had not yet subscribed the 
Solemn League and Covenant, or agreed to dis- 
miss his Malignant followers, these steps were 
under his Majesty’s consideration, and that he, 
Argyle, was in great hopes to bring the Prince to 
a right mind in the matter. Meanwhile he trusted 
to have his hands upheld in the effort by the pre- 
vailing prayers of the Kirk’s ministers in general 
and of the Reverend Mr. Nevoy in particular. 

By this piece of information, to say nothing of 


Bnne of 


lOI 


the sop with which it was administered, Argyle 
not only induced the vigilant chaplain to condone 
his non-attendance at worship, but he brought 
about a considerable shortening of the solemn 
function itself. Such information was too au- 
thentic and too important to be allowed to find 
its way to other ears by a less trustworthy channel, 
and Mr. Nevoy felt it to be his duty, so soon as 
the service was over, notwithstanding the lateness 
of the hour, at once to communicate the facts 
which he had acquired to certain reverend brethren 
of his acquaintance. 

It was owing to this zeal of his chaplain to 
assist affairs of State, and his consequent shorten- 
ing of family worship, that before Argyle had 
been long resettled at his occupation, the door of 
his cabinet again opened to admit a visitor. This 
time it was his lady herself, who had come to ex- 
press surprise at the late duration of her lord's 
visit to the King, and at his absence from family 
prayers. 

“ Madam,” he exclaimed, repressing some ex- 
asperation when he saw her, ** have you not yet 
gone to bed ? It is an ill hour for me to be dis- 
turbed when I have this night’s business to see 
to.” 

“ An ill hour it maun be,” answered the dame, 
with a dangerous light in her black eyes, as she 


102 


Bnne of 


shut the door behind her and came forward, when 
Argyle bides so late in the tent of Saul ; and a 
waur hour when he hides his face from the break- 
ing of the Word in his ain house. Weel may we 
look to see ‘ Ichabod ’ written on the wall of our 
dwelling when he that should be leader to the 
host is himself a faller-away from the ordinances." 

“ I tell you, wife," returned the much-admon- 
ished statesman, already beginning to perceive 
that the task before him — to reconcile the insis- 
tent members of his party to a non-covenanting 
king — was likely to prove no easy one — “ I tell 
you I have great and pressing business to see 
to, business concerning both Church and State 
Necessitas non lages habet. On the subject of the 
ordinances I have already satisfied Mr. Nevoy." 

“ E’en so," returned the lady, with feminine 
inconsequence. “ But it is of another matter that 
I came to speak. Let him that saith there is a 
mote in his neighbor’s eye take heed that there 
be not a beam in his own eye." 

“Yet am I not likely, it would appear," re- 
turned Argyle, “ to be left long without knowl- 
edge of the beam, if such there be. It is difficult 
to answer a speaker who utters speech only in 
parables. Speak plainly and make an end of the 
matter, if you have aught to make plaint of, for I 
have still much to do." 


Bnnc of Brsisle. 


103 


“ Such is aye your ower apt answer, my lord, 
busied as ye are, like Martha, with many things. 
But I would warn Argyle, while he is busied in 
setting in order the affairs of Kirk and State, that 
danger, even bodily danger, may lie in wait for 
those of his ain household.” 

‘‘ Bodily danger ? ” exclaimed the marquis, lay- 
ing down his pen with a trembling hand. “ Why 
did you not say this at once ? It may be that the 
assassin even now ” 

“ Tush, man ! ” returned his spouse, with a 
scarce concealed curl of the lip, “ ye are aye afraid 
of the death ye will never dee. Speak of knife or 
bullet and your thoughts flee aye to your ain flesh. 
But there are others under the roof of this 
house besides the marquis himself. To speak 
shortly, our daughter Anne, travelling hither this 
day through the Lennox, was set upon by mar- 
auders ; her escort, none of the largest for the 
daughter of so weel-hated a lord, was put to ex- 
tremity ; and Anne herself came nigher than was 
pleasant to being carried bodily into the hills.” 

Anne — the daughter of Argyle ! — attacked in 
the Lennox ! ” cried the marquis, his eyes scintil- 
lating, and the color coming to his cheek with 
vindictive passion. “ Have the Grahams learned 
nothing from the fate of their chief? Ill shall it 
go with them for this day’s work if I live twenty- 


104 Bnne of Brflsle. 

four hours longer. Fire and sword shall teach a 
stern lesson to the viper’s brood of Montrose. 
This it was to tarry by the way when the sword 
was in my hand ; this it was to draw back from 
the shedding of blood ! But Agag shall straight- 
way be hewed in pieces, and his house shall be 
wasted utterly ! ” And Argyle clutched the arms 
of his oaken chair with a grip as if he were ready 
to strangle his enemies with his own hands. 

His lady waited until this outburst of feudal 
hatred was expended before replying, and it was 
in a tone of provoking self-possession that she 
then proceeded : 

“ If ye would lippen to hear the end of the af- 
fair it is likely ye might have a different word 
to say. The robbers were caterans from the hills 
— Macgregor’s men, I would think, from what the 
troopers can tell. But Macgregors or Buchanans, 
they would have kept their purpose, and the 
Lady Anne might by this time have been far 
enough out of the gate, if it hadna been that the 
Graham himself — the son of Montrose — came on 
the scene just then, routed the marauders, and 
brought your bonnie daughter safe to her father’s 
door.” 

^‘The son of James Graham!” exclaimed Ar- 
gyle, with a frown on his brow, but a certain 
quivering about the lips. Then he added slowly: 


Bnne of 


los 

“ It would have pleased me nigh as well to hear 
that the caterans had carried off my daughter.” 

“ Is that so? ” answered his lady. ** I maun say 
that I am of another mind. The matter fell out 
by a wise direction. But the eyes of some are 
blinded that they may not see. In this hap I 
perceive a dispensation of Providence to win a 
leader out of the host of the enemies. To be 
plain in the matter, this young nobleman has 
shown a certain preference, I am told, for our 
daughter, and I would put it to you whether she 
may not be designed as an instrument in the 
Lord’s hand to snatch him as a brand from the 
burning.” 

Argyle sprang to his feet at these words, and 
began to pace fiercely up and down the chamber. 

“ Never,” he cried — “ never while I live speak 
to me of friendship or union between the Houses 
of Argyle and Montrose.” 

*‘Yet,” persisted the marchioness in a lower 
voice, somewhat awed by the strong passion evi- 
dent in her lord’s face, it would not be the first 
time that the House of Campbell has gained lands 
and power by such a match, and I would remind 
your lordship that it might be weel to have a 
friend in the Court party if ever there should 
come a turn of the tide.” 

'' If that day should ever come,” returned 


io6 2lnne of 

Argyle, speaking out of his usual prudence in the 
white heat of passion and ambition, the friend 
at Court shall be Charles Stuart himself. Kings 
of Scotland before now,” he went on more soberly, 
fixing his gaze sternly upon his wife, “ have taken 
to their bed the daughters of Drummond and 
Douglas. Charles II. will stoop scarce as far when 
he espouses the daughter of Argyle.” 

At this speech, and the sudden glimpse it af- 
forded of the profound reachings of her husband’s 
ambition, the marchioness remained for a moment 
in silence. At last she spoke, looking steadily, 
not without some awe, upon the unsearchable face 
before her. 

What hope or guarantee have you,” she asked, 

of possessing such power as this implies over the 
mind of the Prince ? ” 

For answer Argyle took from an inner pocket 
a parchment, sealed with the King’s signet, and 
spread it before his wife. Her eyes glanced over 
it in a moment. It ran as follows : — 

“ Argyle, — Whereas I am assured of your en- 
tire loyalty and goodwill to the Crown, both now 
and formerly, in consideration of your many 
trusts and labors concerning the kingdom of 
Scotland, I hereby promise, upon being brought 
securely to the throne of these countries, to raise 


Bnne of 


107 

you to the estate, rank, and honors of a duke of 
Scotland. 

“ Charles R.” 

When she had read this letter for the second 
time more slowly, the marchioness rose from her 
seat. 

“ My man, my man,” she said, laying her hand 
gently upon her husband’s sleeve, “ these are paper 
promises. There is like to be as little friendship 
to you, my lord, from the son of Charles I. as from 
the son of James Graham. This night, I fear, 
shall cost Argyle his head.” 


io8 


Bnne of Brs^le* 


CHAPTER VIII. 

“ And ye sail walk in silk attire, 

And siller ha’e to spare, 

Gin ye’ll consent to be his bride. 

Nor think on Donald main” 

Susanna Blamire. 

Pusillanimous as he was apt to appear, and 
as, indeed, he invariably proved himself to be, in 
the actual presence of bodily danger, Argyle, 
nevertheless, was not of a character to be deterred 
from prosecuting any purpose of his ambition by 
the mere possibility of future risk. The quality 
is not an uncommon one, an ordinary instance of 
its possession being furnished by the criminal who, 
in pursuit of his nefarious designs, does not hesi- 
tate to take life, relying, as he does, upon the 
chances of evading justice, but who, when brought 
face to face with the last penalty of the law, 
weeps and trembles in the extremity of terror. 
In the same way the controller of the destinies of 
Scotland and of Charles II. for the hour, was no 
doubt fully aware of the risks he ran in playing so 
daring a game as he intended. To use the power 


Bnne of Brflgle* 


109 

over the young King which fortune had for the 
moment given him, in order to extract a duke- 
dom, and at the same time to cajole the youthful 
monarch into a marriage with his daughter, was 
a design which by some sudden turning of the 
tables, such as was not infrequent in those days, 
might result in most disastrous consequences to 
himself. But the prospect of by one movement 
raising his family to the ducal rank, and effecting 
an alliance with the blood royal in the first degree, 
overtopped for the hour all more prudent con- 
siderations, and with all his undoubted faculties 
the marquis bent himself to the accomplishment 
of his design. 

It was, therefore, no later than the morning 
following the interviews which have just been 
chronicled that Argyle sought an opportunity of 
preparing his daughter’s mind for the entertain- 
ment of his project, hoping, not unnaturally, that 
the dazzling prospect he had to suggest would at 
once awaken a womanly ambition in Anne’s breast, 
and bring the attraction of her beauty to further 
the design upon the King. 

In other circumstances he might possibly have 
chosen to enlist his lady’s help for the first deli- 
cate advances on the subject. But last evening’s 
interview had revealed to him the fact that the 
marchioness had already, with the instinct of a 


no 


Bnne of 


mother and a woman, divined some secret incli- 
nation of her daughter’s mind, and had been dis- 
posed, impossible and mischievous as the project 
was, to sympathize with, and even to further it. 
For this reason he determined to move in the 
matter with his own hand. 

The daughter of Argyle, after the fatigue and 
excitement of the previous day, and perhaps also 
for the more politic reason of preventing the devel- 
opment of any further entanglement which might 
arise from a chance meeting with her recent pro- 
tector, had been recommended rest within doors 
by her mother. She was engaged accordingly 
with her needle upon the production of a piece of 
tapestry, destined when finished to cover one of 
the walls of the castle at Inverary. The occupa- 
tion, to which a new vogue had been given, eighty 
years earlier, by the taste of Queen Mary, had 
not yet been rendered superfluous as a fashion- 
able employment by the productions of the Flem- 
ish looms. The work, besides industry and artistic 
skill, required good eyesight, and on the plea that 
the room where she wrought was somewhat dark, 
Anne had carried the light frame upon which the 
linen groundwork of her picture was stretched, to 
one of the small windows looking upon the court- 
yard round which the mansion was built. Here, 
in the window recess, with her balls of colored 



HER HAND PAUSED AGAIN AND AGAIN OVER THE CANVAS, 
AND HER EYES WANDERED TO THE COURT- 
YARD WITHOUT.” — Page 111 . 





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, ^ A: -r>3 








n •« 







Bnne of 


Ill 


wools in a basket by her side, and the frame with 
its canvas stretched upon her knee, the young 
girl appeared to be pursuing her task. Her 
fingers, however, owing, perhaps, to the some- 
what rough usage which she had recently re- 
ceived, hardly appeared so deft as usual ; or 
perhaps it was that the subject of the picture 
she was engaged upon — the descent of Moses 
from Mount Sinai — did not interest her as it 
ought to have done. Her hand, at any rate, 
paused again and again over the canvas, and her 
eyes wandered to the courtyard without, where a 
continual coming and going of all sorts and con- 
ditions of men betokened the importance of the 
house’s master in the affairs of the time. The 
point to which Anne’s gaze wandered most fre- 
quently was the gateway almost opposite, under 
whose arch could be seen a portion of the narrow 
causeway outside, where another stream of people, 
not so numerous, but of even greater variety of 
character, passed on their way to and from the 
apartments of King Charles in the castle beyond. 
Many of these were in the sober garb of various 
cuts affected by the adherents of the Covenant ; 
some wore the black cap and gown, with white 
neck-bands, which betokened ministers of the 
Kirk itself. Once and again there passed up 
the causeway the ringing tread of a soldier in 


II2 


Bnne of Brgigle. 


cuirasse and helmet, with tinkling spurs and 
clanking sabre. And occasionally the retinue 
of a covenanting noble could be seen, its master 
distinguished by his velvet bonnet and richly 
furred cloak. But it was when, once or twice in 
the course of the morning, there passed one in 
the unmistakable dress of the cavaliers, that Anne 
appeared to be most deeply interested. 

One such had just gone by with leisured step, 
though his tread upon the pavement sounded 
somewhat clearer and more resolute than that of 
most who had passed. As his plumed hat was 
drawn low upon his brow, Anne would have seen 
nothing of his features, had it not been that as he 
went past he definitely turned and glanced into 
the courtyard. When he did so she caught a 
glimpse of his face, and at the same instant in 
which this happened, his eyes met her own. 
Judge of the reason who will, she had seemed 
upon the moment to be suddenly seized with 
confusion ; the needle had dropped from her 
fingers, and she had almost let fall the tapestry 
frame itself, while over forehead, cheek, and 
throat spread a blush, rosy, rapid, and embar- 
rassing. Amid her confusion she was conscious 
that the cavalier, her protector of the day before, 
had gravely raised his hat and bowed, while she 
was all but certain, even at that distance, that he 


Bnne of Bromic. 


1 13 

too had shown something of heightened color as 
he did so. 

Almost at the same moment Anne was startled 
by a voice in the room at her side. It was that 
of Argyle himself. Absorbed as she had been in 
watching the passers-by, she had heard nothing 
of his all but noiseless approach. He had not 
been slow to mark his daughter’s evident interest 
in something occurring out-of-doors. He had also 
seen the sudden flush of excitement which had 
overspread her features ; and in the hope of dis- 
covering the reason for himself, he had stepped 
quickly and noiselessly to her side. Rapid as 
was his movement, however, he was too late for 
his object, as Montrose had hardly paused for a 
moment before passing on. 

Her father’s voice, nevertheless, when he spoke, 
startled Anne by its proximity, while the sudden 
fear that he must have been a witness of whatever 
signs of feeling she had just exhibited, as well as 
the uncertainty as to how much he might have 
seen of the occurrence without, added in no small 
degree to the young lady’s perturbation. It was 
only the habit of absolute respect and submission 
to parents which formed so strict a feature of the 
training of children at that time, which enabled 
her to act upon the instant with some appearance 

of self-possession. 

8 


Bnne of 


114 

“ I am glad to see that my daughter finds a fit 
employment for her leisure,” were the words with 
which Argyle addressed her ; and as she rose 
dutifully in his presence, he pressed her back to 
her place with one hand, while with the other he 
drew a chair to the spot and seated himself oppo- 
site. He took care, however, to be withdrawn a 
little way from the window, so as not to be seen 
from outside. 

“ It is a hanging,” replied Anne with some 
trepidation, “ for the upper hall at home ; but the 
work ” 

“ Does not, I gather, proceed so quickly here 
as at Inverary.” 

As Argyle spoke, Anne looked up in the ex- 
pectation of discovering some displeasure in his 
look. She was surprised to see, on the contrary, 
the nearest approach to a smile which was ever 
permitted to appear on her father’s features. 

** It is interesting,” she said, the coming and 
going of so many people, and so different ! ” 

“ That interest is natural to the years of youth,” 
replied Argyle, and little harm, I would urge, is 
in it, if the interest become not particular in place 
of general, and a personal matter.” 

The young girl, though she did not look up, 
was conscious that her father, as he said these 
words, regarded her with an intent gaze ; and the 


Bnne of Bcgigle* 


consciousness of this, and of the question hidden 
in his remark, brought the color again slowly to 
her face. 

“ For the daughter of Argyle especially,” con- 
tinued the marquis, “the idle fancies of ordinary 
maidens are no fit food for thought. Nay, hear 
me,” for Anne appeared about to interrupt ; “ I 
am aware that maids are apt to let their fancies 
wander to a gallant bearing or a pleasant wit, 
when some youth of such fair demeanor crosses 
their path, but for the Lady Anne Camp- 
bell ” 

“ Believe me, father,” exclaimed Anne, with 
something of entreaty in her voice, “ believe me, 
I had no thought ” 

“ Tut, tut ! ” broke in Argyle, “ such fancies, I 
say, are natural to thy years ; and it is well, for 
men and women must wed, and marriage is honor- 
able in the sight of Heaven. But in the mating 
of a daughter of the House of Argyle there are 
weighty considerations to be taken to account. 
It is not for the first time ” — here the marquis 
spoke slowly, that his words might have full 
weight — “ it is not for the first time that a Scot- 
tish family has been helped to the crowning of its 
fortunes by the gracious bearing of a girl.” 

On hearing her father speak in this strain the 
color faded from Anne’s cheek, so well accustomed 


ii6 Bnne of 

were those about Argyle to look for some ulterior 
purpose in everything he said and did, and here 
the existence of an unrevealed design appeared 
unmistakable. She replied, nevertheless, with 
some spirit : 

“The House of Campbell, almost alone among 
Scottish families, I have been told, has trusted for 
its advancement to the wisdom and bravery of its 
men rather than to the alliances of its daughters.” 

It was Argyle's turn now to be somewhat dis- 
comfited by the drift of the discourse. What 
he thought did not transpire, though his daughter's 
words must have brought to his mind many 
transactions of recent years in which the fortunes 
of his house had been helped rather by craft than 
by wisdom, and rather by cruelty than by bravery. 
His features, nevertheless, remained unmoved, 
only one sharp glance betokening that he realized 
something of the metal beneath his daughter’s 
gentle demeanor. 

“ It is true,” he said, “ that hitherto our house 
has advanced mostly by the strength of its strong 
arm. It must be part of its wisdom, however, to 
perceive that times have changed, and that what 
was wont in rougher days to be done by might, 
belongs in these gentler times to the arts of policy. 
Frankly, my daughter, for I would deal in entire 
frankness with my child ” — here Argyle scruti- 


anne of 


117 

nized most narrowly the bowncast features of his 
fair listener — frankly, I will tell you that the 
moment seems arrived when, in the wisdom of 
Providence, our house should take the place of 
foremost honor. Few would think it other than 
of happy omen that the final step depends on the 
will of a woman, and that woman my own child — 
the last and most dutiful daughter of the house 
itself.” 

As her father proceeded, Anne’s face had bent 
lower and lower over the tapestry frame, till, 
seated as she was on a lower level than Argyle, 
her features were altogether concealed from his 
scrutiny, and it was only by the nervous move- 
ment of her fingers as she smoothed the surface 
of her work that he judged the effect of his words. 
After a moment’s silence he leaned forward and 
took her hand. 

“ You do not speak, my daughter?” he said. 
“ It is not every day, no, nor every hundred 
years, that a father, even of so high a house as 
that of Argyle, can offer his daughter so rich a 
prize. Our house’s exaltation is not more in my 
heart than the happiness of the child whom 
Heaven has given me, when I tell her that there 
lies within her choice not only the hand of a 
gallant wooer, but the crown of these realms 
itself.” 


ii8 


Bnne of Brgigle, 


The crown ! ” ejaculated Anne, withdrawing 
her hand and looking up, startled and breathless. 

“ The crown — I — the King ” 

It is as I have said,” replied Argyle, rising, 
well satisfied with the effect he had produced, and 
wise enough to leave the announcement as it 
stood, without enhancement, to work its own 
effect on the imagination of the young girl. 
“Within a few days, I have good reason to 
believe, there will lie within the option of the 
daughter of Argyle the acceptance of the hand of 
King Charles and the crown of Scotland. Should 
she answer unwisely and rebuff the royal suitor, 
it will be to bring her father’s hairs, in these 
critical times, not alone to the grave, but almost 
certainly to dishonor and — the block.” Here 
Argyle himself paused for a second and became a 
trifle pale, as the possible truth of his own words 
came home to him. But as he saw Anne shud- 
der, he hastened to pursue his advantage. “ This, 
I doubt not, will have weight in thy thoughts as 
a dutiful daughter, that the blessing of Heaven 
may crown the blessing of thy father, ‘ and that 
thy days may be long in the land that the Lord 
thy God giveth thee.’ ” 

Argyle, as he made this quotation from the 
fourth commandment, laid his hand for a moment 
on his daughter’s head ; then turning, without 


Bnne of 


1 19 

another word he left her. As he passed out of 
the chamber, however, he cast a single rapid 
glance behind him. Anne was still sitting in the 
window recess, but her work had fallen from her 
knee, and her needle from her hand, and bending 
forward, with the sunlight falling on her soft 
brown hair and gray-clad figure, she had buried 
her face in her hands. 


120 


Hnne of 


CHAPTER IX. 

“ The king rade round the Merecleuch-head, 

Booted and spurred, as we a’ did see ; 

Syne dined wi’ a lass at Mossfennan yett, 

A little below the Logan Lea.” 

Old Song. 

A FEW days after the occurrence of the inci- 
dents which we have related, the King removed 
to Edinburgh. There he was immediately under 
the eye both of the Convention of Estates, as 
the Scottish Parliament was then called, and of 
the Commission of Assembly. In these circum- 
stances he was not likely to suffer from lack of 
the ministrations of the zealous preachers of the 
Kirk. These individuals manifested an interest 
in his spiritual welfare which, under the circum- 
stances, he was fain to tolerate, but which in its 
crude austerity was not a little irksome to the 
youthful monarch. Besides the lengthy lectures 
each morning and evening, at which his unfailing 
attendance was expected, frequent days of fast- 
ing and humiliation were appointed, and in the 
sermons which on these occasions succeeded each 


Bnnc of 2lr0i2le. 


I2I 


other without intermission, the preachers, by way 
of attracting the King to their own particular 
form of doctrine, seldom failed to animadvert 
upon the blood-guiltiness of his father and 
the idolatry of his mother. To these ministra- 
tions, however rude and wearisome, in the hope 
of conciliating the Church party, Charles ac- 
corded a polite attention.* Presuming upon 
this sufferance, the preachers would have pro- 
ceeded to take the entire ruling of his private 
life into their own hands ; but here he drew the 
line. Out of consideration for their views he re- 
frained from the walk which he would have en- 
joyed of a Sunday evening, and he restrained the 
natural inclination of his years so far as to deny 
himself other harmless amusements at times 
which might have seemed to them sinful. But 
when, under the title of carnal indulgence, they 
sought to prohibit his enjoyment of the pleasures 
of the chase, he gave them to understand that in 
these matters he must himself be judge of his 
own actions. 

The necessity of keeping a close time for game 

* “ He wrought himself into as grave a deportment as he could ; 
he heard many prayers and sermons, some of great length. I 
remember in one fast-day there were six sermons preached with- 
out intermission. I was there myself, and not a little weary of so 
tedious a service.*'— Burner's Memoirs, p. 422. 


122 


Bnne of 


was not then understood as it is now, and thus 
it came about that so early as the beginning of 
August the King was able to escape occasionally 
from his reverend monitors, and forget the cares 
of his position for a space in the most exhilarat- 
ing of all pastimes. 

It was on the morning on which one of these 
royal hunting-parties set out that, as Mr. John 
Nevoy was conducting worship before the as- 
sembled household of the Marquis of Argyle, an 
incident occurred, which might perhaps appear 
small in itself, but which was taken as significant 
enough by at least one who noticed it. 

The mansion in Edinburgh then occupied 
by Argyle stood on the Castle-hill, and from its 
lofty windows an ample view was afforded of the 
undulating country on the further side of the 
North Loch, pasture and cornland, intersected 
by dry-stone and turf dykes — hedges not yet 
having been introduced * — with a few trees here 
and there about low, brown-thatched “ farm- 
towns,” and the crow-stepped gables of a manor 
or two in the distance. Such was the landscape 
which, on a clear day, could be made out as far 
as the silver-shining Firth of Forth. 

* Hedges are said only to have been introduced to Scotland 
by the soldiers of Cromwell during that general’s occupation of 
the country later. 


Bnne of 


123 


Familiar enough it must already have become 
to the Lady Anne Campbell, seeing that she had 
now lived within sight of it for a full summer 
month at this time. There was therefore the 
less excuse for her if she allowed her attention 
upon this particular morning, as she sat near the 
casement, to wander away from the periods of 
Mr. Nevoy’s doctrinal exposition. The last of 
the morning haze, just then disappearing in the 
blue of the sky, for the hour was early, lent an 
additional charm to the outlook, and might have 
been a sufficient spell to lull the day-dreams of 
an idle maid. But the Lady Anne, as she glanced 
aside, perhaps not altogether unexpectantly, had 
caught sight of a gay, somewhat numerous, troop 
of horsemen coming westward along the rising 
country beyond the Nor’ Loch below. One of 
these, clad in dark green, with a rich white plume 
dancing in his hat, who rode a fine cream-colored 
jennet a full length in front of the rest, she knew 
to be the King. Every minute he would turn, 
apparently to exchange some pleasantry with one 
or other of his companions. These latter were 
evidently in the gayest spirits, and as, cantering, 
caracoling, and leaping light obstacles by the 
path, the party made rapidly westward, one of 
them put a horn to his lips and blew a blast that 
came up clear and full on the morning air above 


124 ^nne of %tQ^lc. 

the yelping of the gaze-hounds which ran by the 
horsemen’s feet. 

The sound itself was not unpleasant, bespeak- 
ing, as it did, the natural exuberance and joyous 
freedom of open-air life. But falling upon the 
ears of the Reverend Mr. Nevoy in the pause be- 
tween his “ lastly ” and his peroration, it came as 
the direct challenge of an enemy to battle, and 
he was not slow in replying to it. 

Behold,” he cried, in a burst of inspired 
rhetoric, “ the ungodly go forth with a noise of 
trumpets, and they that bow the knee in the 
house of Rimmon with shouting and a song. 
Yet, I say, must there be a purging of Israel ; 
yet must the lofty be brought low, and they that 
set their feet in high places be humbled in the 
dust. Woe to the remnant of the chosen if the 
Malignants be not cut off from their midst ! For 
the sins of their princes in the day of battle they 
shall be scattered as chaff before the whirlwind, 
they shall be consumed as stubble before the fire. 
Wherefore, I say, let the followers of false proph- 
ets be separated from the elect even by the 
dividing of the sword, and woe be unto all those 
that join themselves with the accursed brood ! ” 

This deliverance, uttered with the full force of 
vituperative elocution, fell with curiously varied 
effect, it may be understood, upon the ears of 


Bnne of 


I2S 

the several listeners. The marchioness did not 
resist casting a significant glance of inquiry at 
her husband, seeking to discover, if she might, 
the result upon his mind of the declaration of 
religious and political party feeling which had just 
been made. Argyle himself, without a change in 
the expression to which he was in the habit of 
composing his countenance during divine service, 
yet betrayed a certain feeling of impatience by 
the manner in which he altered his listening 
attitude. 

The Lady Anne proved less able to command 
her feelings. The tentative approaches which 
had been made by her father before leaving Stir- 
ling, together with one or two circumstances 
which had occurred since, had brought vividly 
home to her the part which in filial duty, and in 
duty to the cause of her family and the State, she 
was expected to play. With this in her mind, 
as well as certain other hardly defined emo- 
tions perhaps, of which the reader must presently 
be allowed to judge, the words of the preacher 
touched her to a point beyond endurance. Her 
nostril quivered in the effort to breathe, the 
blood fled from cheek and lip, and with a deep 
sigh she sank lifeless across the arm of her seat. 

My bonnie bairn ! 

It was the marchioness who, noticing what had 


126 


Bnne of Brflgle. 


happened, sprang with a cry to her daughter’s 
help. Lifting the maid in her arms, with the aid 
of the nurse and one or two domestics she carried 
her from the room, darting as she went a look of 
significant reproach at the countenance of Argyle. 

“ My daughter,” said the latter, apparently un- 
moved, as the door closed behind the party, “ has 
swooned with the morning heat.” 

The preacher himself, after regarding with a 
look of scorn what he probably considered the 
fleshly weakness of the lady of the house, resumed 
the service with a stern ** Let us pray.” 

“ Amen ! ” said Argyle. 

Meanwhile in an adjoining apartment all the 
resources of the household were being brought 
into requisition for the recovery of Lady Anne. 
Her bodice laces were cut, the ivory-pale palms 
of her hands gently beat, and burnt feathers and 
other reputed restoratives applied to her nostrils. 
At last these efforts proved so far successful that 
the patient opened her eyes. 

“ Forgive me,” she said, with a pitiful little 
smile, as she turned to her mother. “ It was a 
foolish weakness, and the heat of the room over- 
came me. I will rest for an hour or two, and then 
nurse will come with me to take the air in the 
afternoon.” 

“ Heat of the room, my bairn ! ” echoed the 


Bnne ot 


127 


Lady of Argyle, sotto voce ; “ I would it might be 
naught else.” Then she added aloud, “ Indeed 
it was folly that set ye to sit so near to the dizzy 
lattice. Our gentle bird of the moors, methinks, 
sits but ill at ease on the eaglet’s perch.” 


128 


2lnne ot 


CHAPTER X. 

“ There’s three score o’ nobles rade up the king’s ha’, 

But bonnie Glenlogie’s the flower o’ them a’ ; 

Wi’ his milk-white steed and his bonnie black e’e, 
Glenlogie, dear mither, Glenlogie for me ! ” 

Scots Ballad. 

In the early days of Charles II., in Scotland 
dinner was not eaten at an hour when folk who 
would keep their health should be thinking of 
going to bed. The meal was a midday one, eaten 
at one or two o’clock in the afternoon, and en- 
joyed perhaps with a heartier zest since it was 
neither cramped by the name of luncheon nor 
accompanied by fear of midnight dyspepsia. 

It was not until this function was over that 
Lady Anne begged her nurse to accompany her 
upon the walk which she had suggested in the 
morning. Regarding this proposal, however, 
there appeared to be two opinions. Mistress 
Marjory Warnock was one of those privileged 
domestics who by long familiarity with their 
charge have come to look upon the free expres- 
sion of their opinion as nothing more than a 


Bnne of Brgisle. 


129 


natural right. In the present instance, accord- 
ingly, the dame made no scruple about stating 
her disinclination to move abroad. 

“ It is a hot day, I will be thinking,” she 
exclaimed, somewhat querulously in her half- 
English, half-Highland speech — “ It is a hot day 
to steer out-of-doors. Dinna ye see how the 
castle hill reeks in the sun ? It is of these after- 
noon walks i’ the heat, forby the folk that are 
met in them ” — here the good woman gave a 
significant toss of her head — “ that the faintings 
of the morning come. There are sorrows enough 
in store for us, I warrant, without our going half- 
way to meet them. What wad the marquis, your 
father, say, I am wondering, if he kent the bonnie 
goings-on there have been — the stolen trysts and 
chance meetings, that were like to be chancy 
enough if some eyne had happened to spy them 
out ? What wad he say to me, I am asking, if he 
kent that I had seen all and said nothing? It wad 
be a short step and a lang swing, or a lodging in 
the black dungeon at Inverary. But I will be 
running sic risks no more, for mo nighean shtan 
or for myself. So ye will just be guided by me 
and take the air at your ain lattice this after- 
noon.” 

While her nurse spoke in this strain the cheek 
of Lady Anne had alternately flushed and paled, 
9 


130 Bnnc of Btflijle. 

and it was with something of reproach that she 
replied — 

It is late in the day to speak like this, Nurse 
Maisie, and it is little gratitude for the service 
that was done us by my Lord of Montrose some 
weeks ago in the Lennox.” 

“ That was a service,” returned Mistress War- 
nock, that may cost us dear. It has been the 
excuse already for mair kindness to the doer of it 
than prudence wad warrant. Mony anither young 
gentleman wad give his ears to do as mekill for a 
bonnie face, and here have been talks and walks 
accorded, wi’ none near but a foolish auld nurse 
that should have had better sense than to lippen 
as much, till I fear — I fear — there has been mair 
thought gi’en that can be askit back again. Tak’ 
my word for it — there’s little trust to be put in 
young men, for as fair as their looks and their 
speech may be — it’s Mary ae day and Jean the 
next. Take my word for it, and think on nane o’ 
them. The daughter of Argyle need never cast 
a sigh for the finest goshawk of them all. So be 
guided, and bid the idle thought o’ my young Lord 
of Montrose good-bye. It was a playing wi’ edge 
tools at the best, and, sooner or later, some ane’s 
fingers but to be cut. Better now than later, I 
say ; and the least said the soonest mended.” 

“ If these are your thoughts, nurse,” answered 


Bnne of 


131 

the young lady in a low voice, and with a some- 
what tremulous accent, “ you will be ready to help 
me to bid farewell to my Lord of Montrose. It 
grieves me to lead you, my dear Maisie, into any 
danger; but, believe me, it is but once more. 
Bring me my new lilac hat with the feather, and 
my courchief of Antwerp gossamer, and make 
yourself ready. We will walk as before in the 
shady path under the castle rock, and if indeed 
we meet my lord I will give him to know that it 
is — it is — for the last time.” 

At these words Mistress Warnock darted a 
quick look, partly of surprise, partly of distrust, at 
her charge. The face of the latter, however, was 
sincerity itself. 

^‘Weel, weel!” she exclaimed, when she had 
been thus reassured. “ Is it thus the wind blows 
sae soon ? They say men are fickle, but nane that 
says that kens the heart o’ a young lass. Ay, ay ! 
but I’m thinking it will be a sair speech for my 
young lord, who is a gallant lord and a generous, 
after the worst has been said — if it werena that he 
comes of the bloody race o’ Graham. He’s but 
young yet, though, being but barely twenty, 
though his father, to be sure, the cruel Montrose, 
was but seventeen when he married ; * and doubt- 

* The Great Marquis, when a youth, attending St. Andrew’s 
University in 1630, fell in love with and married Lady Magdalene 


132 


Bnne of Brflijle. 


less he will see some other fair face ere lang, and 
console himsel’ for the fickleness o' Argyle’s 
daughter wi’ a bride from a nest nearer his hand. 
So I will e’en get your courchief and my ain hood, 
and we will take the path below the castle rock.” 
And the good woman hurried away with the 
greatest satisfaction to find the desired articles, 
entirely oblivious of the effect of her words on her 
young mistress, whom she left as pale as if she 
were on the point of repeating her fainting 
experience of the morning. 

By the time her nurse returned, however. Lady 
Anne had sufficiently recovered her composure, 
though she remained tremulous and singularly 
silent as they left the house, and took the path 
leading from the Castle hill downwards towards 
the west. 

At that date, as now, there existed a natural 
growth of wooding about the sloping ground below 
the north face of the fortress rock. In time of 
war, it is true, that growth was wont to be cut 
down for fear of its affording cover to attacking 
parties of besiegers. Neglect of this precaution, 
indeed, more than once, as in the time of Robert 
the Bruce, led to the capture of the stronghold. 
By the summer of 1650, however, this natural 

Carnegy, one of the six daughters of Lord Southesk, of Kinneard 
Castle close by. 


Bnne of 


133 


growth had had time since it was last destroyed 
to attain some size, and while furnishing a screen 
of pleasant greenery to parts of the otherwise 
frowning and forbidding precipices, it afforded 
welcome cover to a path which, sufficiently 
romantic and retired, wound here and there under 
the crag, descending finally to lose itself in the 
open country westwards. It was along this path 
that Anne and her attendant now directed their 
steps, judging from experience that they were 
likely to meet with few wayfarers in so unfre- 
quented a resort. 

The reader will have gathered from the remarks 
of Mistress Warnock chronicled above that this 
was by no means the first time since coming to 
Edinburgh that the daughter of Argyle had 
suffered herself to be met by the young gallant 
who had afforded her such timely service a month 
before. Upon arriving in the capital she had 
happened upon the path under the castle as the 
most convenient and pleasant place in which to 
take the air with her nurse. Here, at first by 
accident, she had been met by young Montrose, 
who had hit upon the track as a speedy and secret 
means of access to the city after a visit to the 
west. Upon that occasion, both cavalier and lady 
being of an age when such things happen quickly, 
their former acquaintance had developed into a 


134 


Bnne of 


mutual regard, which in the circumstances was as 
dangerous as it was enchanting to the persons 
concerned. Mrs. Warnock’s feudal aversion to 
the son of her master’s mortal enemy had been 
overcome no less by the reproaches and persuasions 
of her young mistress than by the good looks 
and generous gifts of Montrose himself. There 
are few things, moreover, which a matron can so 
ill resist as the chance of bearing a part in bringing 
two young people to an understanding. Again 
and again, accordingly, Anne and Montrose had 
met, till the story of Montague and Capulet 
seemed on the point of being reproduced between 
the rival houses of the north. 

Meanwhile it made no small part of the distress 
of the young lady that she was not at liberty to 
inform her lover of the ambitious designs which 
her father had shadowed forth to her. In her 
moments of retirement the thought tortured her 
like a nightmare. At first, when she had met 
Montrose since coming to Edinburgh, she had too 
readily persuaded herself that the intimacy was a 
harmless one, and so the mischief was done almost 
before she had time to reflect. Now, however, 
every day increased her terror and despair. It is 
true that her father had so far made no additional 
communications to her, but in a man of his char- 
acter this was by no means to be taken as a 


Bnnc of %xq^Ic. 


I3S 

relinquishment of his design. On the contrary, 
as Anne well knew, he was only likely to be 
maturing his project. With this dreadful secret 
oppressing her heart, Anne had again and again 
determined to intimate to her lover that they 
must meet no more. But on each occasion, when 
they met, she had yielded to the delirious pleasure 
of the meeting, and half with misery and half 
with rapture she had let her purpose fade from 
her mind for the time. 

It will be seen, therefore, that there was reason 
to account for the look of expectant eagerness 
which lighted up the countenance of Montrose 
when, by the aid of an overhanging alder 
branch, he swung himself from a rock above the 
path and alighted almost at the feet of Lady 
Anne. 

He was still dressed in mourning black, it is 
true, as became the situation of his family ; but 
within the last month a considerable change 
otherwise had taken place in his appearance. The 
energy and exertion which had been called for by 
the affairs of the King, as well perhaps as the 
prospect of reinstating his family fortunes which 
the success of Charles seemed to promise, had 
developed rapidly the inherited strength and 
decision of his character as displayed in his 
features, and there was in his air a resource and 


136 


Bnne of Bra^le. 


purpose which perhaps had been the chief charact- 
eristic lacking at the earlier date of our story. It 
might not perhaps be unfair to attribute the 
heightened color of his complexion as he swung 
himself to the path, as much to the pleasure he 
felt at the meeting with his mistress as to the 
exercise in the hunting-field, with which of late 
he had begun to renew his acquaintance. 

The sudden appearance of her lover before her 
in the manner which we have described, at first 
startled Anne out of remembrance of the purpose 
with which she had approached the interview. A 
flush of uncontrolled pleasure swept across her 
features and lit up her eyes, and when, with a 
word of endearment, he caught her hand and 
pressed it to his lips, she seemed to have lost 
the power to resist. But the look of delight as 
quickly died away again from her face, leaving 
the features of an ashen paleness, as she with- 
drew her hand. 

At the moment Mrs. Warnock, judicious 
woman ! was some considerable distance in the 
rear, fastening the latchet of her shoe. 

As the Graham looked up in questioning sur- 
prise, Lady Anne with downcast lashes faltered 
forth the words, “ I have done you wrong, my 
lord.” 

“ That is impossible,” returned Montrose with 


Hnne of 


^37 

grave tenderness, “ so surely as you have been 
true to yourself.” 

“ Alas ! ” answered Anne, while a faint color 
tinged her cheek like a cameo, had I but been 
falser to my own heart I had been more faithful 
to you.” 

“You speak in parables to-day, sweetheart,” 
answered the young nobleman, with a gathering 
cloud of alarm on his brow. “ Be plain with me, 
that if I have done aught amiss I may explain or 
atone. Of one thing I am assured — there is not 
more stainless truth in heaven itself than in the 
heart of Anne of Argyle. Have we not known 
each other now for a whole long month ? ” 

At these words the face of Anne flushed once 
more with irresistible pleasure, and there was no 
mistaking the look in her eyes as she lifted them 
to her lover. But she ahswered piteously : 

“ My lord, my lord ! if you have thought all 
this of me, what must you think now ? I should 
have known — I should have remembered that it 
was impossible, that it was madness to think of 
friendship between the Honses of Montrose and 
Argyle. It had been better — oh! it had been 
better we had never met; and now we must 
say farewell, and meet — no — more.” 

The last words were spoken almost inaudibly, 
but they were loud enough for the ear of Mont- 


138 Bnnc of 

rose. There was a look of pain on his face as he 
took her hand. 

Sweetheart,” he said tenderly, put me not 
to extremity too far. You have not ceased to 
love me ? ” 

“ Oh, no, no ! ” she exclaimed in distress. 

Then,” he returned, in a tone of some anger, 
“ who is it that has dared to put estrangement 
between us ? There have been dark and sorrow- 
ful deeds, it is true, between the Houses of 
Argyle and Montrose, but it is not with the race 
of Argyle that the debt of feud now lies, nor is 
there on earth so wide a gulf but Heaven might 
build the bridge of love across. His blood and 
the blood of his race be on the head of the man 
who would break that bridge now ! Has my 
Lord of Argyle found out our tryst ? Is it he 
who would set a barrier Between us ? ” 

“ Believe me,” exclaimed Anne, eagerly, 
my father has uttered to me no word of 
you, my lord. It was — I — I — the duty of a 
child ” 

Then,” said Montrose, slowly, letting fall her 
hand, “ it is of your own mind that you speak ? 
Can it be true that you indeed love me no more ? ” 
With these words he gazed earnestly upon her 
face, as if he would read in it her thoughts, but 
she did not raise her eyes. After a moment, as 


2lnne of Bessie. 


139 

she did not reply, he added, sadly enough, and in 
a low voice, “ Farewell ! ” 

He had turned away and had already moved 
several steps down the path when he heard 
behind him a half articulate cry. He paused 
with a look of surprise and hope. Anne was 
standing with pale face and quivering lip where 
he had left her. He returned and took her hand. 

“ Sweetheart,'’ he said tenderly, “ it is for you 
to say farewell.” 

As she did not answer, but, with swimming 
eyes, seemed ominously near to tears, he passed 
his arm around her and drew her to him. 

My love,” he whispered, “ speak from your 
own heart only in the sight of Heaven — is it 
farewell ? ” 

“ Oh ! ” she exclaimed, “ I cannot say it ! ” and 
with a sob she buried her face in his breast. 

Neither shall it be said,” he exclaimed with 
sudden fervor, “while sweet Anne of Argyle is 
true to her own heart, or there is a drop of blood 
in the veins of Montrose.” And folding her in 
his arms he pressed an ardent kiss on her unre- 
sisting lips. 

At that moment the lovers were interrupted 
by a sound of voices and footsteps on the path 
below, and Anne had but barely time, after a 
hurried adieu, to retreat with her nurse by a 


140 


Bnnc ot arg^le. 


by-path through one of the thickets, when the 
King himself came into sight round a corner of 
the ascent. 

“ By yonder flying skirt,*' exclaimed he 
laughing, as he came up to his somewhat dis- 
concerted adherent, our Lord of Montrose ap- 
pears to have had better luck in the chase of 
Venus than we in the chase of Diana, and we 
must ask him a thousand pardons if our intrusion 
has startled the quarry. Henceforth, we must 
take your excuses of absence from our hunt, my 
lord, as no more than an expression of preference 
for drawing more private and exciting coverts.’* 


anne ot 


141 


CHAPTER XL 

“ Let never man a-wooing wend 
That lacketh thingis thrie — 

A rowth o’ gowd, an open heart, 

And fu’ o’ courtesie.” 

Ballad of King Henrie,^^ 


On the evening of the day in which the pleas- 
ures of the chase had been enjoyed by the Court 
in the neighborhood of Edinburgh, with the con- 
cluding incident which had been described, Mr. 
Aaron Crookshanks might have been seen making 
his way towards a certain close in the south side 
of the Netherbow with a step which, compared 
with his usual solemn pace, was quite sprightly 
and alert. His outward man upon this evening 
presented an appearance greatly improved from 
that of the last occasion on which he figured be- 
fore the reader. Then, owing to the contingen- 
cies and mishaps of a missionary enterprise for 
which he was but indifferently adapted, his person 
and dress exhibited a dishevelment and discom- 
posure hardly compatible with the character 


142 


Bnne of 


which he was fain to assume. Here, however, on 
the causeway of Edinburgh, and among the com- 
forts afforded by the ministrations of the faithful, 
he was more at home, and on this particular even- 
ing, from the crown of his black cloth bonnet to 
the iron buckles of the large shoes in which he 
shuffled briskly along, small fault could have been 
found with his attire. His black coat, if some- 
what ill-fitting, had been diligently brushed, and 
the ends of a clean white cravat fell over his un- 
dervest in such a fashion that they might quite 
easily have been mistaken for a minister’s bands ; 
while his breeches, if the same pair, showed no 
signs of the rough usage to which they had been 
subjected at Killearn Inn, and his black woollen 
stockings, no longer hanging in wrinkles, but 
gartered tightly up, displayed at their best the 
missioner’s rather bon}^ nether limbs. Taking all 
together, by his general aspect and carriage, one 
would have supposed Mr. Crookshanks to be 
meditating a visit of considerable interest and 
importance. 

Perceiving a couple of Highlanders coming up 
through the Netherbow port from the Canongate, 
and 'undesirous of meeting individuals who might 
prove to be acquaintances of an unpleasant sort, 
he quickened his pace still further in order to 
reach the close for which he was making before 


Bnnc ot Brflsle. 


143 


he should encounter them. It was owing to this 
haste that, as he turned at last into the entry, he 
all but ran against the person of a young woman 
who was coming out. He had presence of mind, 
looking up and recognizing the interrupter of his 
passage to ejaculate, “ Good even to you. Mistress 
Frew. Your worthy aunt, Mrs. Murdoch, will be 
at home, I think?” He had time as well to 
notice that the young woman was not without an 
escort, who was no other than our acquaintance, 
Neil Guthrie, when he was unceremoniously pushed 
aside with an exclamation by the stout yeoman, 
and Neil and Bessie disappeared in the street. 

^‘Verily a saucy wench!” exclaimed Crook- 
shanks, as he resumed his passage up the close. 
‘‘ Moreover,” he added, on second thoughts, “ a 
comely face, and one that might work mischief if 
she took to making laughter at a man. It be- 
hoves me to be forward in this matter, and — and 
it will be but just to let Mrs. Murdoch know that 
her niece has been seen thus familiar with one 
of the Malignants.” 

Reflecting thus sagaciously, he made his way 
up three spiral flights of stairs in the front tene- 
ment, passing upon each landing a door which 
was the entrance to a separate dwelling. Paus- 
ing at last before one of these entrances, he lifted 
the ring which hung in the place of the modern 


144 


Bnne of Brs^lc. 


knocker, and shaking it up and down its iron bar, 
“ tirled at the pin.” 

The door was opened by a maid who, in an- 
swer to the visitor’s solemn inquiry for her mis- 
tress, desired him to step ben,” and ushered 
him presently into the “ best parlor ” of the house. 

The “best parlor” in Scottish houses of the 
middle class was a room used only for visitors 
and on state occasions. It was the room in 
which heavy family functions, such as marriage 
and funeral services, were wont to be celebrated, 
the room in which wills were read and august 
visitors interviewed. The members of the house- 
hold contented themselves with a humbler apart- 
ment, frequently enough the kitchen itself, which, 
with its spinning-wheels and noisy wag-at-the-wa’ 
clock, and its well-worn wooden arm-chairs and 
window-seats, was in reality a much more com- 
fortable place. The room, accordingly, into which 
Mr. Crookshanks had been shown was an apart- 
ment of some state and restraint. The tall- 
backed chairs and the bees-waxed floor, the many- 
paned corner cupboards and the bright, brass 
fire-dogs on the hearth, all wore an air of being 
but seldom used. A portrait of the late Mr. 
Murdoch, who had been a prosperous mercer and 
linendraper in the Luckenbooths, and had owned 
part besides of several ships trading between 


Hnne of 


us 

Leith and Rotterdam, hung over the fireplace, 
and lent an additional solemnity to the room. 
All this had begun to exercise some depressing 
effect on the spirits of Crookshanks as he sat stiff- 
ly with his cap on his knee, cracking his knuckles 
as they clasped the head of his bone-topped staff, 
when the door opened and the elderly widow 
herself appeared. The angular countenance of 
the missioner wreathed itself in an engaging smile 
as the worthy woman greeted him. 

“ It’s you, my dear Mr. Crookshanks ! ” she 
said, with a certain air between familiarity and 
respect, as she courtesied to her visitor. “ Maybe 
ye will just step to the kitchen where I’m sitting 
mysel’. The new lassie’s but a giddy thing, and 
apt to let her wheel stan’ when my back’s turned, 
forbye I’m packin’ Bessie’s trunk there for the 
carrier the morn. Edinburgh’ll be but a kittle 
place for a young lass gin the English loons 
win in, so I’m e’en sending her back to her father 
for fear.” 

The comfortable person of the widow was not 
without certain charms of a substantial sort, but 
as he followed her along the passage to the spot- 
less kitchen, it is doubtful whether the eyes of 
Mr. Aaron Crookshanks were not rather set upon 
attractions more commercially calculable. The 
late lamented mercer and linendraper had left his 

lO 


146 


Bnne of 


consort sufficiently well provided for to be above 
the necessity of making any effort for her own 
livelihood. Besides the house itself in which she 
lived, and a comfortable sum of hard cash lent out 
upon good security, she was still possessor of 
those lucrative part-shares in the shipping of 
Leith which had belonged to her husband. 
Placed thus above the most pressing cares which 
are apt to weigh upon the mind and engross the 
attention of lone women in her situation, she had 
turned for occupation to the ordinances of religion, 
and, after the fashion of her sex, had been apt to 
lavish upon its officials, as more tangible than an 
abstract institution, the devotion which she felt 
for the Church itself. In fact, she was one of 
those worthy women, not yet far to seek, who 
identify the service of Heaven with the entertain- 
ment of its agents, and anything in a black coat 
which came with a sufficient recommendation of 
sanctity was certain of profound respect, liberal 
support, and generous hospitality at her hands. 
Such a character is not likely to be allowed to rust 
for lack of exercising its bounty, and the fact that 
she had more than once been egregiously taken 
in by wolves in shepherd’s clothing, had appar- 
ently in no way lessened her inclination to make 
much of the next pious parasite who offered. So 
far, indeed, was she apt to carry her hospitable 


Bnne ot Brg^le. 


147 


ministrations to those self-constituted saints, that 
already upon at least one occasion she had been 
afforded the generous opportunity of changing 
her condition. That unlooked-for denouement, 
however, had had no more than temporary effect 
upon the good woman’s treatment of the preach- 
ers, lay and cleric, who came in her way, and Mr. 
Aaron Crookshanks, the latest of these, had had 
good reason to congratulate himself on making 
the acquaintance of this entertainer of the elect. 

“ Tak’ a seat on the settle, sir,” she exclaimed, 
as she led the way into the kitchen. “ And, Ailie, 
dinna sit handless there, but set by your wheel 
and spread the table for supper. There’s a breast 
o’ capercailzie in the cupboard, that my brother, 
my Lord Moray’s keeper, sent me out o’ Menteith. 
And set out the shouther o’ salmon as week Mr. 
Crookshanks will excuse such plain fare on an 
occasion.” * 

“ No excuse is needed, my dear Mrs. Murdoch,” 
returned the missioner. “ Was not the prophet 
sufficiently nourished in the wilderness with no 
more than a cake baked upon the coals, and by 

* Our readers will no doubt be familiar enough with the fact 
that domestic servants in Scotland, so late as the beginning of 
the present century, were wont to make a stipulation, before 
engaging themselves, that they should not be required to eat 
salmon oftener than four times a week, so plentiful was the fish 
in those days. 


Bnne of Bromic* 


that are we not to understand that our carnal 
appetites must be weaned from things of sense?” 

At the same time the eyes of the semi-reverend 
gentleman glistened as they saw the succulent 
breast of capercailzie put down, and alongside it 
a liberal jug of generous double ale. His worthy 
hostess, however, engaged in her hospitable pre- 
parations, while she heard the remark, did not 
notice the look. 

“ Ah ! Mr. Crookshanks,” she exclaimed, “ it’s 
ill getting the like o’ you, wha’s thochts are set 
on higher things, to partake o’ bite or sup. But 
I wad mind ye, wi’ a’ humility, that Elijah was 
in the desert o’ Canaan, and they say folks dinna 
need so mony victuals in warm countries. The 
hands o’ the Lord’s servants maun be upheld, and 
their bodies sustained. Forbye, now that I look 
at ye, I wad say that ye have had but sma’ fare 
on your travels ; I doubt ye have thocht ower 
little o’ your bodily welfare during thae visita- 
tions.” 

“ It was to see how the vine flourished and the 
pomegranate budded that I went forth,” answered 
Crookshanks, with zealous resignation, “ and not 
to minister to my fleshly desires ; though I will 
not say but that 1 might be fitter for the work of 
the vineyard were I less left to my own provision. 
It is difficult to bend the mind from subjects of 


%mc ot Brgigle. 


149 


spiritual import to mere things of meat and drink. 
Ah ! my dear Mrs. Murdoch, happy indeed are 
those servants of the Covenant who have a help- 
meet to sustain their hands ! ” 

This last sentiment was accompanied by a look 
which was intended to be piously pathetic, but it 
was entirely thrown away upon the good woman, 
who at that instant was engaged in bringing from 
its locked receptacle her supply of best glass and 
cutlery, her own domestic needs being usually 
served by less pretentious gear. 

“ And how,” she asked, when she found time 
to turn again to her guest, “ how did ye find 
the country that was set apart for your visita- 
tion? I trust when weighed i’ the balances o’ 
righteous judgment it wasna found a’thegether 
wanting.” 

“ Alas ! my dear sister, if I may so call one to 
whom I have been drawn by strong cords of — of 
spiritual sympathy, I found the land lying under 
a gross darkness. In the Highland country, in- 
deed, so little regard had they for the mission 
with which I had charged myself that it was not 
without bodily molesting that I escaped. Such, 
however, was the lot of the disciples of old time, 
who underwent buffetings and castings out, and 
I do not cherish a revengeful spirit. Moreover, 
here I have a list of ministers to submit to the 


Bnne of Brgigle, 


150 

reverend Commission of Assembly for purging of 
their worldly seeking and Arminianism, against 
all of whom I have found grounds of testify- 
ing.” * 

Dear, dear ! ” exclaimed Mrs. Murdoch, with 
some concern, as she glanced at the list produced, 

the country maun be in but a dark and heathen 
state when sae mony are found striking oot o’ the 
path. It is weel there are zealous sons o’ the 
Covenant like yoursel’, Mr. Crookshanks, to see 
that backsliders are brocht to judgment. But,” 
and she turned to the table upon which the maid 
had just set the last of the viands, “ our bit supper 
is ready — ye will excuse the slightness o’ it — 
will you draw in the armchair, and I wad beg of 
ye to ask the blessing.” 

The guest displayed no reluctance whatever to 
accede to this request, and after a blessing ” of 
a length sufficient to guarantee the profoundest 
piety at a time when that commodity was ap- 
praised as much by the quantity as by the quality 
of its demonstrations, Mr. Crookshanks tackled 

* “ In the months of September and October the Synod of 
Angus and Meanis deposed eighteen ministers for insufficiency 
of the ministry, famishing of congregations, silence in the time 
of the late engagement against England, malignancy, and drunk- 
enness.” — Beattie^ $ Hist, of Church of Scotland during the Coni' 
monivealth^ chap. I. 


Bnnc of Brgiste. 


151 

to the contents of the platters before him with a 
zest which spoke little of religious or any other 
asceticism. The huge helpings with which he 
supplied himself, both of salmon and of capercail- 
zie — a game bird since extinct, and only rein- 
troduced to Scotland lately, but then common 
enough in the country — soon made an obvious 
impression upon the victuals, while he did not 
fail to make use of his hostess’s generous home- 
brewed in order to wash the viands down. 

It was then, having tasted but slightly herself 
of the good things provided, that Mrs. Murdoch 
informed her guest that there was a matter of 
some importance on her mind regarding which 
she wished to have his counsel and assistance. 

Such an intimation from one of the fair sex 
is enough at any time to stir the vanity of most 
men, and it is needless to say that upon Mr. 
Aaron Crookshanks, rendered valiant by his 
hearty meal, and suspected as he might be of en- 
tertaining tender sentiments towards the posses- 
sions if not the person of his entertainer, its effect 
was certain and ominous. 

“ My dear Mrs. Murdoch,” he exclaimed effu- 
sively, leaning towards her with what was doubt- 
less meant to be a fascinating gaze, — “ may I say 
my very dear Mrs. Murdoch, if in anything my 
poor wisdom or knowledge can serve you — and I 


Umc of 


152 

can foresee circumstances in which a woman in 
your position might be greatly profited by the 
experience and presence of a — a brother in the 
faith — be assured you may confide in me.” 

I wanted to ask your opinion,” replied the 
good woman, upon a circumstance concerning 
the conduct o’ the King’s house that cam’ within 
my ain cognizance.” 

‘‘ The King’s house ! ” exclaimed Crookshanks, 
looking up quickly at the suggestion, like grimal- 
kin at the flutter of a linnet’s wings. That is a 
most important matter which it is your duty to 
make known at once. The malignancy of the 
Court is one of the chief stumbling-blocks and 
stones of offence to the faithful, and woe has 
been denounced against those that would cloak 
its backsliding.” 

111 would it beseem me to bring trouble on 
the gallant young King,” answered Mrs. Mur- 
doch ; “ but he is but young, and youth may 
gang an ill gait if left unguided, so I will e’en tell 
ye what I saw, and maybe ye could speak to some 
o’ the worthy ministers o’ the Commission ; for 
the wrath o’ Heaven canna but be brought doun 
by profane ongoings o’ the sort.” 

Profane ongoings ! ” cried Crookshanks, now 
fairly scenting high quarry. “ Speak plainly, in 
the name of the Covenant, that the nation be not 


Bnne of 153 

swallowed up for the iniquity of those in high 
places.” 

“ Ailie, lass, gang ben and see that the creuzie 
on the stairhead’s burning,” said the good woman 
thus adjured, in order to get the maid out of ear- 
shot. “ I wadna hae Bessie break her shins cornin’ 
up i’ the dark.” Then, the girl having departed, 
she turned to her impatient guest. “Ye maun 
ken that his Majesty has been lodged for the last 
three or four nights at my Lord Tweeddale’s near 
by, and the windows o’ the royal apartments 
being opposite mine, but on the story below, ye 
may believe I could tak’ tent o’ what was carrying 
on inside. It was yestreen, after prayers, when 
the worthy Mr. Patrick Gillespie had broken the 
Word to the King’s household there in my ain 
sight, and had gane hame, I could scarcely believe 
my eyne when I saw the young gentlemen sit down 
again at table, whip out some packs o’ playing 
cards, and begin their godless pastime.” 

“ My dear Mrs. Murdoch,” exclaimed Crook- 
shanks, rising to his feet, “ this is a most serious 
matter, and it is well that it has been made 
known to a true son of the Covenant. I will go 
hence at once, and make the King’s falling-away 
known in the proper quarter. But first I would 
look from your window. It may be that I may 
see and behold with my own eyes, that in the 


154 Bnne of 

mouths of two witnesses the evil may stand 
revealed.” 

Mrs. Murdoch led the way to the window of a 
neighboring room, from which she had made her 
observation, and there, obvious enough, in the 
suite of chambers oh the opposite side of the 
narrow passage below, the young King was to be 
recognized, unconscious of hostile observation 
from outside, again enjoying a friendly game of 
piquet with a small party of the Court. 

“ Verily,” exclaimed the onlooker with fervor, 
the Lord has revealed the iniquity in Israel. 
Can men gather grapes of thorns, or figs of 
thistles ? Malignancy must be cut off, root and 
branch, alike from the Court and the camp, if the 
host of the elect would not be given to utter 
destruction before the face of their enemies.” 

“ Indeed, I trust,” said Mrs. Murdoch, now 
half fearful that her information was about to 
lead to much more serious results than she had 
anticipated, “ I trust the King will be willing to 
listen to reproof. It wad be a sair thought to 
have the breeding o’ darker mischief laid at a puir 
widow’s door.” 

The King must be brought to see the error 
of his ways; the tree must be hewn down and 
cast into the fire if it bear not due fruit,” returned 
Crookshanks. Then turning at what he con- 


Bnne of UtQ^lc. 


155 


ceived to be his opportunity, he gazed straight at 
his hostess, and added significantly : “ Let her 
who has done a service to Israel beware that she 
harbor not in her own house one of the Agagites. 
To be plain,’' he proceeded, as he perceived his 
words to have some effect on the good woman, 
^‘my dear Mrs. Murdoch, did I not this night be- 
hold with my own eyes the henchman of a chief 
Malignant, an attendant on my Lord of Graham, 
in the company of your niece?” 

The factor of Montrose,” returned Mrs. Mur- 
doch in some confusion, “ is a sturdy yeoman. 
It is true he has been lippened to show some at- 
tention to Bessie since she came on her visit here. 
And to say truth, I thought gin the English loons 
did force their way into our town it might be as 
weel to have some strong neive at hand to fend a 
lonely woman’s gear.” 

“ Be warned by me,” answered Crookshanks, 
** and have no dealings with the Amalekites, if ye 
would not yourself be marked out as one bringing 
a curse upon Israel. Cut off this young man, and 
believe, my dear — my very dear Mrs. Murdoch, 
there is another, even myself, at hand, who is 
ready to the uttermost to defend you and yours, 
if ye will but give him the warrant.” 

At this point, favored by the darkness of the 
room in which they were standing, the enterpris- 


Bnne of 


156 

ing Crookshanks ventured so far as to take and 
gently press his hostess’s hand. 

It is impossible to say what her answer might 
have been, since just at that moment the pin of 
the outer door was tirled, and Guthrie, marching 
into the house with Bessie behind him, announced 
in a loud voice that the removal of his sweetheart 
and her things would be impossible that night, 
as it was said the English were marching on the 
town and the gates must presently be closed. At 
this moment the distant sound of cannonading 
could be distinctly heard, and a trampling of 
hoofs and flashing of lights in the court below 
announced that the party of the King had broken 
up, and that its members were already hurrying 
off to the scene of action. 

Just then, when his direction of affairs might 
have been of some service in the widow’s house- 
hold, Mr. Crookshanks, strangely enough, was 
nowhere to be seen. 


Bnne of 


157 


CHAPTER XII. 

“ The king was coming through Caddonford, 

And full five thousand men had he ; 

They saw the dark forest them before, 

They thought it awesome for to see.” 

“ San^' of the Outlaw Murray 

The events of the month of July in the year 1650 
are familiar enough to the readers of Scottish 
history. It was with alarm as well as chagrin 
that the leaders of the Independent party in 
England had learned of the landing and proposed 
establishment of the young King Charles in the 
sister kingdom. After their high-handed execu- 
tion of Charles I. in the previous year, it formed 
no part of their plan to allow the peaceful settle- 
ment of the son of that monarch in such danger- 
ous vicinity. If Charles II. were suffered to as- 
sume his ancestral rights to the separate kingdom 
of Scotland, the Parliamentary leaders of the 
south were assured that at no time should they 
be able to count on their own immunity from 
Royalist attempts. Accordingly, in entire dis- 


Bnne of 


regard of all other considerations than those of 
their own safety, and in complete oblivion of the 
right of the northern kingdom to a monarch and 
government of its own, the English Independents 
gathered together an army for the purpose of 
preventing the accession of Charles II. to the 
throne of Scotland. The command of this army, 
as may have been gathered in the course of our 
tale, had first been offered to General Fairfax, but 
had been refused by that commander from a dis- 
inclination to fight against a party of his own 
Presbyterian persuasion. No such scruples, how- 
ever, affected the mind of the Independent gen- 
eral, Cromwell, freshly home from an Irish cam- 
paign in which his soldiers had distinguished 
themselves by special cruelty. With his custom- 
ary energy and promptitude he organized the 
Parliamentary forces, and, accompanied by a fleet 
which sailed along the coast, he proceeded to 
carry out the invasion of the north. 

Hitherto the Roundhead leader had been 
everywhere successful, and it was expected by his 
followers that he would subjugate the free gov- 
ernment of Scotland as speedily and as effectively 
as he had put an end to the Royalist risings in the 
Sister Isle. On crossing the Scottish Border, 
however, he found himself matched for the first 
time by a general in all respects his equal. 


Bnne of 


^59 


David Leslie, created Lord Newark eleven 
years later by Charles, had served with high dis- 
tinction in the German wars of Gustavus Adolphus. 
He had been major-general of the army under 
his namesake, Alexander Leslie, the old earl of 
Leven, which marched into England in 1644 ; and 
at Marston Moor in that year it was mainly the 
charge of the Scots cavalry under his command 
which, breaking and dispersing the right wing of 
the Royalists, brought about the issue of the bat- 
tle. Last of all, it had been he who, in the misty 
September morning at Philiphaugh in 1645, sur- 
prised and overthrew the forces of the Royalists’ 
most brilliant general, the Marquis of Montrose. 

This was the leader who, in the cause of Charles 
11 . and the Scottish Parliament, now matched his 
skill against the forces of the redoubted Crom- 
well. Following the example of the great model 
of Scottish generalship, Robert the Bruce, Leslie 
prepared the country before the invader by driv- 
ing off all supplies, so that Cromwell, after cross- 
ing the Border, found the counties through which 
he had to pass stripped alike of men and of provis- 
ions. By this stratagem the English forces would 
have been reduced to the greatest straits without 
meeting an enemy or accomplishing any purpose 
whatever, had it not been that they were accom- 
panied by the fleet, which furnished them with 


i6o Bnne of Bromic* 

necessaries. As it was, they were compelled to 
march close by the sea-coast, where their opera- 
tions could most readily be watched and check- 
mated. 

By slow and embarrassed progress of this sort 
the English army, towards the end of July, had 
come within measurable distance of Edinburgh. 
Here for the first time Cromwell found himself 
face to face with his opponent, and so skilfully 
had Leslie drawn up his defences, in the approaches 
between Leith and the crag of Arthur’s Seat, that 
the Independent forces were brought entirely to 
a standstill. Several attempts to break through 
the Scottish lines had already been made without 
success, but on the evening of the first of August 
a more determined effort appeared to be in prep- 
aration. 

News of this had been brought to the King as 
he sat late with a few of the closer intimates of 
his Court, but supposing that nothing would be 
attempted by the enemy before morning, Charles 
had delayed giving the signal for departure. It 
can be understood, however, that his movements 
were considerably accelerated when the actual 
sound of cannonading in the distance announced 
that the action had begun. In less time almost 
than it takes to write it, the small party descended 
to the courtyard, and throwing themselves upon 


2lnne of 


i6i 


the backs of the steeds in attendance there, they 
were presently galloping off at full speed towards 
Leith. Before they had gone far, however, the 
firing ceased, and just as they reached head- 
quarters the King was met by an aide-de-camp of 
General Leslie, sent to inform him and the mem- 
bers of the Committee of Estates that the English 
attack had been beaten off with some loss by a 
detachment of Scottish cavalry. 

As the royal party galloped up, the news that 
the King had arrived flew right and left ; there 
was a hurried movement of lights, followed by 
a series of gruff commands, and the regular tramp 
of the guard as it turned out gave significant indi- 
cation that the discipline of Gustavus Adolphus 
had not been forgotten by the general of the 
Scottish forces. Charles was met on the steps of 
the headquarters by Leslie himself, still cased in 
full armor as he had ridden in from directing 
the movements of his troops. 

“ We are too late, I hear,” cried Charles, spring- 
ing to the ground, “ to do more than congratulate 
General Leslie on a fresh success.” 

Leslie bowed. Your majesty,” he said, as he 
led the way into the house, ‘‘ will forgive our 
want of preparation ; a royal visit at this hour 
was altogether unexpected.” 

, But not altogether unwelcome, I trust,” said 


i 62 


anne of 


the King with a laugh, though at the same time 
glancing shrewdly at his interlocutor. 

“ On the contrary,” replied Leslie, more politic 
in address than his predecessor Leven, the blunt 
old soldier of fortune, might have been, “ the 
sword of King Charles must be of the first honor 
and advantage to any cause, especially as your 
Majesty is too good a soldier to forget that there 
can be but one captain in the field.” 

There was not a moment’s pause before Charles 
answered, but in that instant he had time to 
take the measure of the man with whom he had 
to deal. 

It were folly in the most experienced prince,” 
he then replied deliberately, ** to interfere in any 
way with the authority of the ablest general of 
the day.” And turning to the cavaliers of his 
party who had followed him into the room, he 
added, “ My lords, in the present undertaking we 
will act in no point independently of the instruc- 
tions of General Leslie.” 

Having thus in two sentences allayed the ap- 
prehensions of the disciplinarian, and settled the 
line of action for reinforcements of his own imme- 
diate following, Charles took the general by the 
arm and drew him into a neighboring ante- 
chamber. 

“ I have given proof,” he said, when they were. 


Bnne of Brgigle. 


163 


sufficiently alone, “ of the importance which I at- 
tach to the free action of a commanding officer 
in the field. I am glad to be assured that Gen- 
eral Leslie is equally averse to the interference of 
other authorities in the affairs of his army.” 

The bronze skin of the veteran visibly deepened 
in color under the keen gaze of the King. He 
answered firmly, however : 

“ Hitherto, my liege, there has been no such 
interference ; it is the duty of a general to see 
that his authority stands unquestioned.” 

Yet I can foresee a difficulty,” returned 
Charles, ‘‘ if the soldiers recognize a second author- 
ity to whom they owe obedience. To be entirely 
frank I have been given to understand that the 
ministers of the Kirk in our Scots army are to be 
counted with as of greater influence than properly 
belongs to military chaplains.” 

“ To return frankness for frankness,” answered 
Leslie, looking steadily at the Prince, your 
Majesty has hit on what may be the weakest 
point of our Scottish armor. In the regiments of 
Gustavus the chaplains kept to their prayers, and 
I would I could find a way to make our Scots 
ministers do the same. The deeds brought about 
by their urgings suit ill with a soldier’s stomach.” 

Here Leslie paused. He was thinking darkly, 
doubtless, of such violation of the rules of war as 


164 


Hnne of 


the slaughter of his prisoners after quarter given 
at Philiphaugh and at the taking of Colkitto’s 
castle. These deeds of vindictive fury against 
the Royalists, however, seeing that the speaker 
had himself been a chief instrument in them, could 
not be named before the King. But,” he added, 
slowly, ‘‘ a soldier must obey his paymasters ; and 
your Majesty will forgive my reminding you that 
the army under my command has hitherto been 
much in the hands of the Church.” 

“Yet by your own saying. General,” returned 
Charles, “ there should be but one captain in the 
field. Methinks the leader of the Scottish army 
might hold a firmer hand. At present I under- 
stand that only such recruits are admitted to the 
ranks as will obey their ministers first and Gen- 
eral Leslie afterwards. It is even said that the 
Assembly meditates measures for bringing the 
forces still further under its own control.” 

At this intimation of proposed interference with 
the affairs of his command, Leslie’s eye darkened 
with anger and distrust, and a certain setting of 
firmness about his mouth betokened his feeling 
on the subject. These signs apparently gave sat- 
isfaction to the King, who, under an assumed air 
of careless frankness, was watching the face of 
the general keenly ; and he added ; 

“ Believe me, my brave Leslie, he who would 


2lnne of 


x6s 

avoid the certain issue of working with a dan- 
gerous mine underfoot — he who would avoid see- 
ing his ablest plans ruined at the moment of 
accomplishment — must resist the interference of 
such reverend meddlers, must accept the services 
of every soldier, Presbyterian or other, who brings 
an honorable sword to the camp, and must in- 
sist on the preachers keeping to their ghostly 
province.” 

From the first the Covenanting general had 
been shrewd enough to perceive that Charles was 
by no means the inconsequent stripling which his 
youthful appearance might have led him to be be- 
lieved. The tragic vicissitudes of his life, and the 
experiences of his exile in various Courts and 
countries, had given the Prince a knowledge of 
men and their motives which rendered him a 
definite force to be counted with in the circum- 
stances of the time. If Leslie had before sus- 
pected this astuteness in Charles, he was now as- 
sured of it by the certainty with which the latter 
had hit upon the chief defect in the Presbyterian 
army, and the decision and energy with which he 
had urged its remedy. Accordingly it was with 
something more than the mere formal show of 
respect due to the sqvereign that he answered. 

“Your Majesty,” he said, “has not been slow 
to perceive what is perhaps the chief danger 


i66 


%mc of Br0i2le* 


threatening the Scottish arms. Needs must, how- 
ever, that, for lack of better, we fight with the 
weapons at hand. Nevertheless I hope so to 
manage matters for your Majesty and the Estates 
that the point of the danger may be avoided. 
Meanwhile your Majesty’s countenance and the 
forces of your Majesty’s friends are a welcome 
accession to the Scottish strength.” 

At this Charles rose from his seat. A stronger 
expression of opinion and policy at the moment, 
he felt, was not to be expected from a general in 
Leslie’s position, holding his commission from 
the Estates. He was fain, therefore, to be con- 
tent for the time with the fact that he had secured 
the assurance of a friendly reception in camp to 
such adherents of the ^Royalist party as might 
volunteer their services. Further efforts to secure 
the personal royalty and support of the leader 
must be left until circumstances, such as the ac- 
cession of any considerable number of Royalist 
troops, should place Leslie in a more independent 
position. With this change once accomplished — 
the army in great part composed of adherents of 
the royal house, and the devotion of its general 
assured — a Scottish victory would no longer be 
likely, as at present, merely to increase the power 
of Argyle’s faction, and with it the embarrassment 
of the throne. In this anticipation he bade Leslie 


2lnne of 


167 

a warm good-night, gratifying the martinet pride 
of the soldier with a compliment on the military 
discipline of the troops under his command. He 
then, in order to be at hand in case of further de- 
monstrations by the enemy, accepted the hos- 
pitality of Lord Balmerino’s house in Leith, which 
its owner placed at his disposal, and presently 
retired to rest.* 

Little was he aware of the jealous influences 
which were already at work to defeat his designs, 
to involve him personally in the most delicate 
embarrassment of his life, and finally to work out 
the purposes of Heaven and the destinies of the 
royal house in an altogether unexpected way. 

* Prevented by the vicinity of Cromwell’s forces from residing 
in Holyrood, Charles took up his residence in the house of Lord 
Balmerino in Leith — a mansion still standing at the comer of 
Coatfield Lane, in the Kirkgate. — See paper on Holyrood, in 
Chamber's Repository^ p. 26. 


Hnne of 


i6g 


CHAPTER XIII. 

“Thou shalt not yield to lord norloun, 

Nor yet shalt thou yield to me ; 

But yield thee to the bracken bush 
That grows upon yon lily lea. 

Battle of Otterbourne^^ 

At an early hour of the morning the Scottish 
camp presented a sight which would be consider- 
ered not a little remarkable in the cantonments 
of a modern army. Observance of religious or- 
dinances has more than once formed an historic 
feature in the military array of Scotland. On the 
field of Bannockburn, before the battle, it is said 
that the Scottish ranks kneeled down in prayer as 
the venerable Abbot of I nchaffray walked through 
them barefooted, exhorting them to fight for their 
hearths and King, and the story lends a peculiar 
dignity to the picture of that barbaric scene. 
Doubtless it was the same instinct of religious 
reverence on the eve of great issues which influ- 
enced the Presbyterian forces opposing Crom- 
well ; but the ill-advised zeal of the ministers to 


Bnne of Brgslc, 


whom the conduct of religious matters in the 
army then fell, carried the exercise of their func- 
tions beyond the bounds of expediency, and 
almost into the region of burlesque. 

Thus it was that on the morning of which we 
write the camp resounded with the voices of 
preachers, who here and there held forth to con- 
gregations of the companies with a curious adapt- 
ation of scriptural instances to the issues of the 
hour. Not content with a short service of prayer 
and reading, such as might have been suitable to 
the circumstances, they insisted, upon the plea 
that the faithful must not be famished, on the 
delivery of long harangues which seriously delayed 
military duty. 

In the opposite camp of the Independents, it 
is true, a similar proceeding might have been 
observed ; but it was with a difference. In the 
English case it was the officers who assumed the 
function of preachers, and they were therefore in 
no way inclined to let their ordinances interfere 
with the discipline of the army. In the Scottish 
ranks, on the contrary, the preachers were out- 
siders who were only too apt to insist on the 
prerogative of the sacred services, while the actual 
officers stood by, powerless for the time to 
enforce order. It may be understood, therefore, 
that it was not without a certain secret satisfac- 


170 


Bane of Btflisle. 


tion that most of the latter now heard the blast 
of bugles and the roll of drums from head- 
quarters, which intimated a general call to stand 
to arms. The ministers would fain have kept 
their audiences about them for some time longer, 
and several of them made a determined effort 
to this end, assuring their hearers that the arm 
of the Lord would show itself strong to smite, 
though the carnal sword should remain in its 
scabbard. But the peremptory and reiterated 
commands of the captains, combined with a very 
natural apprehension that the enemy might be 
even then advancing to the attack, in which case 
it would possibly be as well to resort in the first 
instance to carnal measures of defence, proved 
too much for the ministerial exhortations ; and 
it was with wrathful looks that the preachers saw 
their congregations melt away at the instance of 
what they were pleased to regard as mere earthly 
behests. 

It can be believed that the irate feelings of 
these gentlemen were in no way diminished by 
the discovery, which was made presently, that 
the interruption to their discourses came from 
no immediate apprehension of battle, but from a 
purpose of much vainer sort. 

The different regiments had barely been able to 
go through the various movements necessary for 


Bnne of 


171 

taking up regular position, when a brilliant caval- 
cade of horsemen were seen far to the left coming 
rapidly, along the lines, and word was passed from 
post to post that the King himself was about to 
review the troops. As the cavalcade drew near, 
the individuals composing it could be more dis- 
tinctly made out. Charles himself rode first. 
Clad from crest to stirrup in a suit of burnished 
armor, which glanced and shone in the sun, he 
was mounted on a superb black charger, a parting 
gift from his cousin, the fiery Prince Rupert, 
which had been sent him from the Hague ; and 
as he rode along the ranks, his gallant bearing, 
and the knowledge that he had himself come to 
share their dangers in the field, evoked among the 
troops an unbounded enthusiasm. The display 
of feeling was as unexpected as it was distasteful 
and alarming to the preachers, who had been too 
long accustomed to the sweets of power to view 
with equanimity the prospect of divided sway. 
The possibility of the young King's obtaining an 
ascendancy over the mind of the army seemed to 
them to threaten an immediate return to power 
of the moderate or Malignant ” party ; and it 
was with jealous and angry eyes that they noted 
for subsequent inquisition such officers as made 
most conspicuous demonstrations of loyalty. 

Meanwhile the latter — gentlemen, many of 


172 


Umc of 2lr0i2le. 


them, who appreciated the King’s countenance 
quite apart from political considerations — af- 
forded him the best reception in their power, and 
almost everywhere he was saluted by them with 
the utmost ardor and respect. In the ranks, it 
is true, there appeared to be some difference of 
feeling. Among these were incorporated many 
of the old Presbyterian soldiers who had fought 
against Charles I. at Marston Moor, and who had 
seen the surrender of that monarch at Newcastle. 
To the minds of some of them the return to 
power of Charles’s son held out a prospect of 
possible trouble ; and such apprehensions were 
not set entirely at rest even by the sight of the 
two Scottish generals of these former occasions 
now riding in the company of the young King. 
Such men and others of the stricter Presbyterian 
persuasion therefore accorded but a grudging 
salute to the royal party as it passed, and, backed 
by the majority of the ministers, some of them 
might even have indulged in demonstrations of 
another sort but for the military discipline which 
Leslie’s officers were still able to enforce. 

As it was, Charles, as he rode along, with 
General Leslie a length behind, and the older 
Presbyterian general, the Earl of Leven,* and 


* The elder Leslie served as a volunteer in this campaign. 


Bnne ot 


173 


other officers and noblemen in his train, felt him- 
self, curiously, to be the object at once of devo- 
tion and remonstrance. While most of the 
officers and many of the troops appeared eager to 
do him all the honor in their power, and here and 
there the ranks even burst into a cheer as he 
passed, it did not escape his observation that 
there was a difference of feeling in the camp, and 
that the preachers especially showed anything 
but a disposition to welcome his appearance. 
After he had moved to some distance, several of 
the latter could be heard endeavoring to raise 
their voices in disapproval of the whole proceed- 
ing, which they were not slow to term a bowing 
of the knee in the high places of Baal ; and be- 
tween these orators, and the more loyally dis- 
posed officers who strove to enforce order and dis- 
cipline, there rose disputes in which the private 
soldiers were drawn to take sides. This turn of 
affairs, the natural result of an allegiance divided 
between the civil and religious authority in the 
State, was itself sufficiently uncomfortable and 
alarming ; but the climax of the scene was reached 
when Charles had all but completed his round 
of the forces. 

It will be remembered that the messenger sent 
by General Leslie on the previous night to advise 
the King and the committee in Edinburgh of the 


174 


Bnne of Br^sle* 


issue of the evening’s engagement, was met by 
Charles not far from headquarters. Along with 
his original message, therefore, the aide-de-camp 
naturally carried with him to town, news of the 
King’s arrival in camp. This intimation was of a 
sort which could not be regarded with composure 
by the Presbyterian authorities, presenting to 
them, as it did, a prospect of royal ascendancy in 
the army, a quarter where the King would be 
immediately removed out of their power. With 
jealous haste, therefore, a council was called, and 
as the result of its deliberations, a committee 
was appointed to proceed with the first light of 
morning to the camp above Leith, there to use 
measures not only for the removal of Charles to 
a secure distance, but for the purging from the 
ranks of the army itself of all such as appeared 
too loyally disposed towards his Majesty.* This 
committee, however, owing to the delays to 
which committees are notoriously prone, had 


* “The committee of Parliament for purging the army did 
meet this 2, 3, and 5 days of August. They acted nothing 
against the enemy, but purged out of the army above 80 com- 
manders. The ministers in all places preached incessantly for 
this purging, showing, if that committee did not proceed, the 
consequences that would follow would certainly prove lamentable 
and destructive, and would undoubtedly multiply God’s judg- 
ments upon the land and army.” — Balfour^ s Annals, vol. iv. p. 89. 


2lnne of :ar0^le. 


175 


not set out quite so early as was intended. 
Accordingly it was when the King, having 
made nearly all his round of inspection, was 
again approaching headquarters, that he found 
himself confronted by the envoys. 

A curious appearance the latter presented as 
they drew near. Three of them were clergymen, 
and the remaining two members of the Conven- 
tion of Estates. Along with the habitual auster- 
ity of their countenances could be detected a 
certain chagrin at the discovery that they came 
too late to prevent the King’s appearance before 
the troops, and the possible formation of an at- 
tachment to his person among the soldiery. In 
the aspect of the ministers, moreover, an outward 
assumption of boldness did not altogether con- 
ceal some trepidation which they felt on thus 
suddenly finding themselves in the royal pres- 
ence upon what was at least a delicate, and might 
prove to be a dangerous, errand. 

Any hesitation, however, which they may have 
felt was promptly brought to decision by Charles. 
Upon catching sight of the party he at once 
guessed something of their mission, and his eye 
darkened with displeasure and scorn. Neverthe- 
less, these feelings were in no way apparent when 
he addressed the leader of the company. 

My Lord of Lome,” he said, “ it is a happy 


176 


Bnne of 


incident which gives us the advantage of your 
presence thus early in camp, though your follow- 
ing is hardly such as those of your name have 
been accustomed to lead to battle. I trust it is 
no sinister news which brings you and these 
gentlemen to the field.” 

“ The Lords of Lome, my liege,” returned the 
individual addressed, with something of heat flush- 
ing momentarily across his grave countenance, 
“ can still lead as weighty a following as of old to 
the field should the safety of Scotland and the 
Covenant demand it. Meanwhile I am sent 
hither with these gentlemen by commission of 
the Estates to urge becoming means of safety for 
your royal person.” 

“ Methinks, my Lord,” returned the King, with 
sufficient dignity, the person of Charles Stuart 
is likely to find no safer place of keeping in Scot- 
land at present than among the swords of these 
gallant officers and of our brave soldiers here in 
camp.” 

As he spoke these words the Prince glanced 
lightly in Leslie’s direction, but he might have 
been made sufficiently aware of that general’s 
approbation of his sentiment by the quick look 
of alarm on the faces of one or two of the 
committee. 

“We will ride forward, however,” he added, 


Bnne of 


177 


“ and if you, my lord, have any communication 
to make, it will be most fitly received and 
considered within doors.” 

Saying this, he gave the rein to his steed, and 
led the way to the house which was for the time 
his residence in Leith. Upon arrival there he 
requested the attendance of Leslie and a few 
others of his own following, and with the five 
envoys from Edinburgh betook himself to a pri- 
vate morning-room of the mansion. 

We will take your commission here,” he said, 
when, in consideration for the old Earl of Leven, 
who had ridden out in complete armor, he had 
desired them be seated. 

We are instructed by the Committee of 
Estates,” answered Lord Lome, laying the 
parchment minute containing his commission 
on the table, “ to convey their humble advice 
that, considering the dangers imminent to the 
State from harm befalling your royal person, 
your Majesty shall retire from the immediate 
field of war, and be conveyed to such greater 
security as is afforded by Sterling or Dunferm- 
line.” 

The leaders of the Covenanting party in Par- 
liament had been prompt as well as bold in form- 
ing this request — so prompt indeed that their 

message came upon the King before he had had 
12 


Bnne of 


178 

time to assure himself of any but the most doubt- 
ful influence in the camp. With a stronger back- 
ing in the army, such as could hardly have failed 
to accrue to him had he been suffered to remain 
for any length of time among the soldiers them- 
selves, he might have been able to refuse the 
request of the committee point-blank, and pres- 
ently even to turn the tables upon them. For 
such a possibility, however, no time had been 
allowed ; Charles was taken at a disadvantage. 
Nevertheless, hemmed into a corner as he was, 
he made shift to find some resource. 

Our Lords of Parliament,” he said, we are 
assured, have the royal interest at heart, and we 
thank them sincerely for their solicitude. We 
are, however, by no means convinced of hurt to 
the State resulting from our appearance in the 
field, and I would have you remind my lords that 
it is a sovereign’s sacred duty to share the dangers 
of his subjects.” 

By thus putting off the immediate request of 
the committee it was the King’s intention to gain 
time. Such a contingency, however, had been 
foreseen and provided for. 

“ My lords of the Convention,” returned Lome, 
** are so convinced of the impossibility of carrying 
out successfully the defence of the kingdom and 
Covenant in case of harm befalling your Majesty, 


Bnne of 


179 


that they instructed their committee here present 
to say further that, unless your Highness was 
pleased to retire forthwith to such, place of 
greater safety as they have recommended, they 
would no longer feel themselves able to continue 
the present resistance to the enemy.” 

Charles was about to reply more hotly to what 
must have appeared to him, to say the least, a 
somewhat presumptuous style of address, when 
an incident happened which gave another direc- 
tion to the point at issue. 

Before the last speech of Lord Lome, General 
Leslie had been hastily summoned from the room. 
He now returned and begged a moment’s private 
interview with the King. 

Strange as the request was, to be preferred 
while the Sovereign was giving audience in such 
circumstances, yet so anxious was the expression 
of Leslie’s face, and so pressing were the terms 
in which he made his demand, that Charles at 
once rose, and excusing himself to the envoys 
for the moment, passed into an adjoining cham- 
ber. 

‘^Well, General,” he said, when they were 
alone, the matter must surely be of moment 
for which you summon me thus urgently from 
audience ? ” 

My liege,” answered Leslie, ‘‘ I have just re- 


8o 


Bnne of Brgisle, 


ceived intelligence that the English troops are in 
motion, and making as if to outflank our defences 
and attack the city from the south.” 

“ Any movement is a relief in the circum- 
stances,” exclaimed Charles, and I have no 
doubt our resources can be made to cope with 
the emergency. You have already, I suppose, 
given the order for counter-movements ? ” 

“ Alas ! ” returned the outspoken soldier, with 
some perturbation, “ it is just there the difficulty 
lies. A part of the forces appear to have got 
wind of the request from the Estates to your 
Majesty, and refuse to move unless — unless that 
request be agreed to.” 

The King’s eyes flashed with anger as he 
turned upon the general. 

“ In these circumstances. General Leslie,” he 
said, “ you are aware of the duty of a comman- 
der. The action of these men in mutiny is the 
field.” 

By this time the drums of the English could 
be heard in the distance as they crossed to wind- 
ward on the movement south, and beads of anx- 
iety began to show themselves on the forehead 
of the general as he replied. 

“ My liege,” he said, “ I am powerless at the 
very moment when I would be strong. The 
malcontents are a majority of the troops, while 


Bnne of 


i8i 


a very carrion crow of the Kirk, one Nevoy, 
has arrived from Edinburgh in the camp, and 
flies everywhere preaching that God is with the 
mutineers.” 

“ To be brief,” said Charles, slowly and some- 
what bitterly, “ these men will not fight unless I 
retire, and you would advise me to this ? ** 

“ My liege,” answered the stout soldier, red- 
dening with shame at the position in which he 
found himself, I but tell you the condition of 
affairs. So far am I from approving it, that I 
will go further: I hold a commission from the 
Estates, but I will say this. Here is my sword ; if 
your Majesty bid me, I will ride out with those 
who will follow me, and do my best effort for 
your Highness, if it be my last.” 

It was the King’s turn now to show warmth of 
feeling. 

“ My good general,” he said, “ it were impossi- 
ble to doubt your honesty. The day may come 
when I can reward that quality to more effect.* 
Meanwhile circumstances prove too strong for us, 
and I must stoop for the nonce to the occasion.” 

Returning, with this, to the chamber of audi- 
ence, Charles explained to the envoys that mat- 
ters had been so laid before him by General 

* It has been already stated that David Leslie was created 
Lord Newark by Charles at the Restoration eleven years later. 


i 82 


Bnne ot 


Leslie that he was now persuaded of the wisdom 
in the recommendation of the Estates. He was, 
therefore, willing to return from the camp at 
once. 

Lord Lome gravely and in a few words ex- 
pressed his satisfaction with the King’s decision, 
and so promptly was that decision carried into 
effect that within half an hour the royal party 
was on its way eastwards, making for Queensferry 
and the ancient city of Dunfermline.* 

* “ His Majesty stayed at Leith until Friday, the 2d of 
August, 1650, and then, sore against his own mind, he was moved 
by his counsel and the general persons of the army to retire him- 
self to Dunfermline.” — Balfour^ s Annals^ vol. iv. p. 86. 


Bnne of 


'83 


CHAPTER XIV. 

“He was twisting of collars his dogs to hold, 

And combing the mane of his courser bold.” 

Old Ballad. 

It must have been with somewhat ominous 
feelings that Charles now took up his residence 
in the palace of the ancient Abbey of Dunferm- 
line. Close by, in the still stately, though ruined 
pile, once a Benedictine monastery, lay the ashes 
of his ancestors from Malcolm Canmore to 
Robert III. Not one of these, not even the 
Bruce himself, with all his hazards, had ever been 
brought to so humiliating a pass as he who now 
felt himself monarch in little else than name. 
It seemed, indeed, as if the royal line, derived 
through the veins of kings whose deeds had 
made the history of Scotland for six centuries, 
were about to be eclipsed amid the party bicker- 
ings and ambitions of Independent and Presby- 
terian kirkmen. The fortunes of Charles now 
stood between the horns of a strange dilemma, 
either of whose alternatives appeared entirely 


184 


Bnne of 


disastrous. If, on the one hand, the forces of 
the Scottish Presbyterians should prove success- 
ful in the military game now being played, the 
King must inevitably find himself more than 
ever under the compulsion of Argyle and the 
narrow theologistic party. If, on the other hand, 
the fortune of war should give victory to Crom- 
well and his sectaries, not even the name of king 
would be left to the representative of the royal 
house. Of these two alternatives it were diffi- 
cult to say which was likely to prove the worse. 
Meanwhile, since no taking of thought appeared 
likely to help him in the juncture in which he 
found himself, and since he was denied a part in 
the greater game of war then being played, 
Charles turned for healthy occupation to such 
pleasures of the chase as were to be had in the 
neighborhood of the ancient royal city of Dun- 
fermline. There might be those who suspected 
that under his debonair exterior at that time the 
young King was engaged in intrigues for the as- 
sertion of the royal power. His later assump- 
tion of arms on his own account, indeed, would 
sufficiently countenance such a presumption. 
But if this were so, Charles took the greatest care 
to allow small room for these suspicions. He 
surmised well that the surest means of securing 
liberty to achieve his purposes was to appear en- 


Bnne of 


tirely occupied with more frivolous matters. Ac- 
cordingly to outward appearance he was no more 
than the ardent sportsman, the gayest and most 
daring leader of the chase. 

Curiously enough, it was exactly that party in 
the nation which had jealously prevented the 
Prince’s participation in serious affairs which now 
showed itself eager to condemn his lighter pur- 
suits. It is in this carping temper that his recep- 
tion of a certain weighty deputation from the 
Commission of Assembly has been chronicled by 
the historians of the Covenanting party. 

It was still the early morning of a day towards 
the middle of August, when the mingling of 
bright sunshine and cool cloud-shadows gave 
promise of perfect weather for their sport, that 
the royal party were about to set out. A page 
was holding his horse at the foot of the broad 
steps before the palace, and Charles was in the act 
of putting his foot in the stirrup, when word was 
brought to him that a cavalcade of consequence 
was approaching from Queensferry, and was even 
then making its way under the abbey walls. 

There was a pause of a few moments, the royal 
party waiting in ill-concealed expectation of mo- 
mentous news, before the new arrivals came 
within sight. These dismounted at the outer 
gateway of the palace, leaving the horses in 


i86 


Bnne of 


charge of their attendants, and as they came 
slowly across the intervening ground Charles 
advanced a step to meet them. 

“ My Lord of Lome,” he said, “ and you, my 
Lords of Lothian and Eglinton, I am pleased to 
see you, though you are no more than in time. 
Another minute and we should have been be- 
yond recall. We shall not be sorry, however, if 
the delay and some refreshment add you to the 
numbers of the chase.” 

“ We are charged,” gravely answered the first 
nobleman addressed, “ with papers of momentous 
import which we would crave to submit without 
delay for your Majesty’s approval.” 

“ Saving that,” added Lord Lothian, hastening 
to atone for his companion’s omission of ac- 
knowledgment for the courtesy of the King — 
“ saving that, and bating a trifle of stiffness 
that bids me look twice nowadays at ditch or 
dyke ere I cross it, I for one would have been 
most pleased to accept the invitation of your 
Majesty.” 

Our field is so much the poorer by what our 
councils have gained, my lord,” answered Charles, 
graciously, as he led the way within. 

While the King remained closeted with his 
guests indoors, his quondam companions of the 
morning were left outside to speculate on the 


:anne of 187 

urgency of the business which was detaining 
him. 

In somewhat less than half an hour he re- 
turned, and all there present noticed a look of 
added anxiety on his face, as he stood for a mo- 
ment adjusting the hawk glove on his wrist. In 
another moment, however, with a few words of 
excuse for the necessary delay, he had mounted 
his steed and was leading the cavalcade towards 
that part of the country in which sport was most 
likely to be found. 

The royal party was a more brilliant one than 
might have been expected in the somewhat con- 
strained circumstances of the Court at the time. 
Resisting hitherto all the various kinds of pres- 
sure which had been brought to bear upon him 
to order the exile of such nobles as were obnox- 
ious to the Presbyterian faction, Charles, having 
learned a sad enough lesson from the fate of the 
Great Marquis of Montrose, still stood by his 
friends ; and such peers as Hamilton, Lauderdale, 
and Buckingham still remained about his person 
and shared his sports and councils. These, not- 
withstanding their crippled condition as owners 
of estates burdened with the forfeits and fines 
of political opponents, were yet able to make a 
brave enough show as they rode out in the com- 
pany of the King. Usually Charles himself was 


Bnne of 


1 88 

the soul as he was the leader of the party — the 
sun from whom the surrounding planets took 
their light ; and while fairly distributing the 
favors of the royal attention to those around 
him, none knew better when to apply the spur 
and when the curb to the prancings of wit and 
persiflage which made time fly among the cava- 
lier gallants. To-day, however, it did not escape 
the notice of those about his person best able to 
judge, that under the light shafts of raillery and 
merry humor which he was pleased to throw off, 
there appeared occasionally a certain air of pre- 
occupation which boded serious business on 
hand. 

Nor were these surmises without foundation. 
The party had scattered at intervals in a line 
across the country for the purposes of their 
sport, Charles and his more immediate attend- 
ants being guided in the direction in which 
quarry was most likely to be found ; and the 
royal falcons had cast off once or twice with 
tolerable success, when matters were so managed 
by the King that for a few minutes he was left 
out of earshot of the rest of his followers in the 
company of Montrose. 

During the last few chapters there has been no 
occasion to mention the proceedings of the 
young chief of the Grahams. He himself, in- 


Bnne ot Biggie. 


189 


deed, since he joined the circle of the Court, had 
done little but chafe at an enforced inaction. 
With an eye of ill-concealed displeasure he had 
watched the assumptions and encroachments of 
the clerical party, while the King, to all outward 
appearance, made no determined effort to coun- 
teract that party’s influence. Once or twice 
Graham had ventured to approach the subject of 
the political situation with Charles himself, but 
these approaches were uniformly turned aside 
with a lightness that seemed scarce in keeping 
with the gravity of the question at issue. It 
may readily be understood that it was no part of 
the King’s plan to reveal the agency and policy 
with which he wrought even to his most trusty 
friends. The air of gayety, however, with which 
the Prince sought to conceal his real efforts was 
regarded by Montrose, as by many others at the 
time, in the light of a mere ill-considered levity ; 
and the young nobleman waited with the utmost 
impatience for indications of some serious move- 
ment on the part of Charles. 

Nor had the latter, when he rallied his follower* 
upon the charge of playing the love-sick swain, 
guessed how nearly he struck at the truth. For 
Montrose could not but feel how closely the suc- 
cess of his own love-suit, as well as the reinstate- 
ment of his family fortunes, was bound up with 


Bnne ot Brggle* 


190 

the political movements of the hour. Should 
the covenanting party continue to increase in 
power nothing appeared more certain to the eyes 
of the desponding lover than that the daughter 
of AVgyle must be further and further removed 
from his reach. If, on the other hand, the party 
of the King should by any means obtain an as- 
cendancy, affairs from the lover’s point of view 
could not but wear a more hopeful aspect. It 
will be seen, therefore, that from personal as well 
as patriotic motives Montrose was likely to await 
with eagerness any sign of royal activity. In 
this respect he now to all appearance was about 
to be gratified, for it was with a countenance of 
firmness and in a tone of purpose that the King 
addressed him. 

Aware that many eyes were upon them, and 
that what he had to say had better be said 
quickly, Charles wasted no words in approaching 
his purpose. 

“ Montrose,” he said, “ it is not yet many 
weeks since the chief of the Grahams made his 
sovereign a gallant offer.” 

The young nobleman, thus suddenly ap- 
proached at last on a serious topic, glanced up 
quickly with a look of the keenest expectation. 

“Your Majesty’s decision on that subject,” he 
replied, “ has not ceased to cause me regret.” 


Bnne of Brs^le* 


191 

** At the time,” returned Charles, prudence 
urged me to make trial first of more pacific 
measures. It was a duty owed to the country, 
which of late has tasted more than enough of 
war. Since then I have had reason to regret 

my decision, and this morning ” He paused, 

and a slight flush tinged his cheek as at the recol- 
lection of some insult. “ In short,” he resumed 
next moment, “ I confess myself to-day to be 
thinking seriously of your counsel.” 

‘‘Your Majesty,” answered Montrose, with 
suppressed ardor, “has but to say the word, 
and once again I promise that in two days’ time 
there will be as brave an army at the service of 
the throne as ever marched out of the north.” 

Charles looked thoughtfully at his adviser, and 
paused a moment before replying. Then, as if 
he had arrived at a decision, he answered — 

“ First or last it must come to the sword-point, 
and the sooner perhaps the better. The country 
must be ruled either by the pulpit or by the 
throne, and methinks the Crown has suffered 
slighting enough already. Do you, my Lord of 
Montrose, stand prepared with horses during the 
council this afternoon. The royal cause may 
need swift riding, and Charles Stuart himself 
perforce may carry the fiery cross into the 
country of the Graham.” 


192 


Bnne of 


At this point one or two other members of the 
royal party approached, and Montrose’s expres- 
sions of devotion and enthusiasm were cut short. 
The King allowed the hunt to proceed for some 
little time afterwards, in order to prevent the 
drawing of any politic conclusions from the 
moment’s earnest conversation ; then, upon a 
pretext of the scarcity of quarry, he gave the 
signal for return to the palace. 


Bnne of Hr^gle. 


193 


CHAPTER XV. 

“ It’s gin ye wad be leman o’ mine, 

Lay aside the St. John’s-wort and the vervain.’' 

Ballad Fragment. 

Upon leaving the palace in the morning 
Charles had given instructions for the summoning 
of a meeting of the Privy Council, or at least of 
such members of it as were at the time within 
reach. From this intimation it was gathered 
that some proceeding of the last importance was 
under consideration. Hitherto the King had 
avoided calling together his “ right trusty council- 
lors,” perhaps from a knowledge that in the exist- 
ing condition of affairs the party whose councils 
were least to be desired was the party likely to 
be best represented at the board. The present 
summons, therefore, was taken to augur some 
unusual crisis, and it was with an air of grave 
expectation that the several peers invited pre- 
pared to attend. 

Odd as the fact may seem to modern ideas of 
elegance, Charles received his councillors in the 

13 


194 


Bnne of Brgslc. 


royal bed-chamber. It was an apartment of some 
size, hung with rich and heavy tapestry, and 
furnished yet in sumptuous style with the tall 
carved chairs, heavy tables of dark bees-waxed 
mahogany, and vast canopied bed, with which it 
had been provided upon the occasion of the last 
state visit of Charles 1. 

Differing in that respect from his royal father, 
the young King was inclined to dispense with 
formal preparations of ceremony, when these 
interfered with his natural impatience to accom- 
plish a purpose in hand. Thus it came about 
that on the present occasion he received his 
councillors still dressed as he had ridden out 
hawking in the morning. Hardly, indeed, had 
he allowed himself to take the slight refreshment 
of a cup of wine when, hearing that certain of the 
expected noblemen were already in attendance in 
the ante-chamber, he gave orders to have them 
admitted. 

The first to enter the royal presence were Lord 
Lothian and Lord Lome, the latter still austere 
and formal as he had appeared in the earlier 
morning, and carrying in his hand the same 
ominous roll of parchment. These two had but 
paid their greetings to the King and been pro- 
vided with seats by the gentleman-usher when 
the Marquis of Argyle was announced. He came 


Bnne of 


195 


in with a look of eagerness, apparently expecting 
to find the King still alone ; and when he per- 
ceived that the chance of forestalling the Privy 
Council by a private interview was lost, the first 
quick look of his face was somewhat damped. 
It was with an air of the most suave self-posses- 
sion, however, that he bowed to Charles ; and 
none but he towards whom it was directed saw 
the quick look of hate which, in the act, he darted 
sidewise towards his son, Lord Lome. The 
latter, unaware how his promptitude in arrival 
had frustrated his father’s carefully-laid plans 
of ambition, returned the look with one of cold 
indifference. Lords Tweeddale, Eglinton, and 
others of the royal advisers now arrived in rapid 
succession, having been made immediately aware 
of the King’s return ; and presently each seat 
was occupied at the central table of the apart- 
ment, at whose head sat Charles himself. 

The face of the King wore a certain air of 
abstraction, together with an unwonted expres- 
sion of firmness, as he gazed slowly from one to 
another of the strongly-marked countenances 
before him ; and each one present could not but 
feel that, whether the actual control of affairs 
were in the hands of the young monarch or not, 
there was in his character a faculty of insight into 
the motives of men which must render him a 


Hnne ot Brs^le. 


196 

formidable factor in State business, if only the 
conclusions at which he might arrive were backed 
up by sufficient tenacity of purpose. 

Alas ! here lay the whole weakness of Charles. 
Again and again, throughout his history, he 
formed resolutions which, if consistently enforced, 
could not have failed to exert a strong moder- 
ating influence on the bitter-party politics of his 
day. From first to last, however, there were 
about him men who, with narrower intelligence 
perhaps, possessed the sleuth-hound zeal and 
perseverance of enthusiasts. Added to this, it 
must be confessed that the circumstances of the 
time — the waves of popular opinion dashing 
madly to and fro between the mediaeval ideas of 
absolute monarchy and the newer doctrines of a 
republican commonwealth, before settling into 
the later mean of constitutional government — 
immensely increased the difficulty of keeping a 
steady hand on the rudder of the State. At any 
rate, it is to be noticed that continually, after 
holding out with something approaching heroism 
till his point was all but won, the King’s firmness 
of resolve would give way before a final combina- 
tion of circumstances, and, resigning himself to 
what appeared the inevitable, he allowed himself 
to drift with the current. In this way a gradual 
effect was produced upon his character, which 


Bnne of 


197 


became more noticeable in later years. So often 
had his strongest and best intentions been baffled 
by events that, in these later years, he came to 
adopt the epicurean philosophy of life for which 
he has been so often blamed, and, despairing of 
any success in stemming the tide of circumstance, 
to devote himself more and more to the pleasures 
of the hour. It was then he earned the title of 
the Merry Monarch. 

At the period of which we write, however, he 
still possessed the optimism and consequent pur- 
posefulness of youth, so that Argyle himself, the 
master-spirit of Scotland at the time, felt by no 
means altogether sure of his ends. 

** My lords,” said Charles, when the first formal- 
ities were over, “ we have this morning received 
an address from our Committee of Estates upon 
which we desire to have the weight of your opin- 
ion ; and since it may be best without waste of 
time to come to the point of the matter, I would 
ask my Lord of Lome to make known the con- 
tents of his communication.” 

Summoned thus by name, the nobleman referred 
to took up the parchment before him, unrolled it 
with the utmost gravity, and with no greater in- 
troduction than a somewhat stately reverence to 
the young King, proceeded to read forth its con- 
tents. These it is needless to recapitulate here. 


198 Bnne of 

They are to be found in every history of the time. 
It is enough to say that the Presbyterian leaders 
of the Scottish Parliament, averring that they 
found their position attacked, not only by the 
forces, but by the logic of the English Independ- 
ent general, took the opportunity of insisting that 
their chief weakness lay in the alleged “ Malig- 
nancy ” of the King. The loyalty of the people, 
as well as the favor of Heaven, they declared, 
were now only to be retained by the express state- 
ment of Charles that he adhered to the Articles 
of the Covenant, and that “ casting himself and 
his interests upon God, he was willing to follow 
the advice of his Parliament in matters civil, and 
the General Assembly or their commissioners in 
matters ecclesiastical.” 

Had the request stopped here all might have 
gone smoothly enough, and Charles, yielding to 
the exigencies of the situation, might have ap- 
pended such a qualified consent to the demand 
as would have satisfied most of the Presbyterian 
following, and sufficiently seiwed the immediate 
purposes in view, without seriously compromis- 
ing himself or the royal prerogatives. But the 
extreme section of the party in power had used 
the urgent circumstances of the time as an occa- 
sion for demanding from the King an expression 
of regret for what they were pleased to term the 


Bnne of 


199 


contumacy of his father, the idolatry of his 
mother, and his own former misconduct while in 
a graceless state. They went further still than 
this, and proceeded even to doubt the royal 
honor. Charles was asked to declare that he 
entered into the Covenant-oath without any 
sinister intentions or crooked design for attain- 
ing his own ends, but, so far as human weakness 
would permit, in the truth and sincerity of his 
heart.” This document, a sufficiently strange 
one to be set before a king for signature, ended 
with a piece of curious casuistry. The prayer 
was put into his mouth “ that, whatever had been 
his former guiltiness before God, and the bad 
success that those had who owned his affairs 
while he stood in opposition to the work of God, 
yet, the state of the question being now altered, 
and he having obtained mercy to be upon God’s 
side, and to prefer God’s interest to his own, the 
Lord would be gracious and countenance His 
own cause, in the hands of weak, sinful instru- 
ments, against all enemies whatsoever.” 

Charles sat and listened until this peculiar 
document had been read to an end, his feelings 
betrayed only by the flush which came and went 
upon his face at the more presumptuous pas- 
sages, and the indignant flash of the eyes as he 
glanced at the reader ; but there was an omin- 


200 Bnne ot 

ous curl on his lip as Lord Lome finished the 
perusal. 

** This,” he asked, looking straight at the lat- 
ter, is the declaration to which the Estates of 
Scotland ask the signature of their Prince?” 

I have read to the best of my poor ability,” 
said Lome, as if it were the most ordinary 
communication in the world, though it may be 
doubted if he were quite so unconscious of the 
insulting implications of the document as he 
chose to appear. ^‘We of the Committee en- 
trusted with its submission to your Majesty,” 
he added, have further to urge that it will be 
at peril of danger befalling both the State and 
the throne if the royal signature be withheld.” 

“And you, my lords of the Privy Council,” 
said Charles, still containing himself, as he glanced 
at one after another of the politic faces before 
him, “ I would fain have the advantage of your 
opinion upon this request.” 

For a minute, however, no one spoke. It re- 
quired no very shrewd eye to perceive the opin- 
ion of the matter held by Charles himself, and 
between the desire to avoid encountering the ex- 
plosion of royal feeling which seemed imminent, 
and the wish to remain on good terms with the 
leaders of the all-powerful Covenanting party, 
each hesitated to be the first to express himself. 


Bnne ot Brgi^le. 


201 


Of all there, without a doubt the coolest and 
most calculating head was that of the Marquis 
of Argyle. At this point, with the wary policy 
natural to his character, he seemed to wait until 
some one else should speak. Silence on his own 
part could entail no personal compromise, while 
any expression on the part of another present 
might afford a clue to the disposition of the 
speaker which could be turned to future account 
in the intricate party politics of the day. As 
no one, however, ventured either to indicate ap- 
proval or disapproval of the declaration demanded 
from the King, Argyle himself at last suggested 
a proceeding which committed him neither to 
one side nor to the other. 

In a matter of so weighty tenor and import,” 
he said slowly, “ I would venture my counsel to 
your Majesty to defer replying until there has 
been due time allowed for consideration.” 

In this remark he was immediately followed by 
Lord Lome with more heat than that nobleman 
usually allowed to appear in his manner. For it 
was notorious that Argyle’s historic disagreement 
with his own father was more than balanced by 
the later antagonism of his son. 

*^The Marquis of Argyle forgets,” exclaimed 
the latter, “ the urgency of the matters moment- 
arily at issue, an urgency which demands, the 


202 


Bnne of 


instant assurance of the royal disposition. Other- 
wise ” 

It would be curious to conjecture what fresh 
alternative of Covenanting intentions the speaker 
was about to add. At this point he was inter- 
rupted by Charles himself in a voice cold and 
biting as steel. 

“ My Lord of Lome/’ said the King, “ is a zeal- 
ous advocate of the mission with which he has 
been entrusted. We would remind him, never- 
theless, that zeal may have its limits. I would 
have you reflect, my lord, that your embassy has 
already carried you further than has been vent- 
ured with impunity by a subject in Scotland be- 
fore. It is an enterprise that in another day had 
hardly been forgiven even to so great a subject as 
the Lord of Lome.” 

Here Charles paused, but it was only to pro- 
ceed somewhat bitterly — 

“The King of Scots but lately might have 
looked to see every sword leap from its scabbard 
at so bold an approach, yet here no tongue has 
spoken. I accept the sign. Rest sure, however, 
that though the peers of Scotland forget the re- 
spect due to the throne, there is yet one who 
while he lives will not see the royal honor basely 
trodden in the mire. In one thing I agree with 
you, my lord. Delay here were of no avail. 


Bnne of 


203 


Your answer is ready. To sign that parchment 
were to forfeit alike the kingly title and the filial 
name. Go back, my lord, to those who sent you, 
and assure them that, while in no respect will 
Charles Stuart forget the duty he owes to his 
people, in no respect can he forget the duty 
owed to a father’s memory by a son.” 

Sweeping a haughty glance round the circle of 
peers before him, the young King added — 

“ I thank you, my lords, for your attendance. 
Our meeting is over.” 

And, rising to his feet, he broke up the council. 

Slowly the room emptied, Charles according 
more or less acknowledgment to the greetings 
with which the various members of his council 
bowed themselves out. 

Presently all had gone except the Marquis of 
Argyle. That experienced diplomatist had so 
managed matters that he should be last to leave 
the chamber, and, using the privilege of his posi- 
tion to remain behind, he now approached the 
King. 

Charles had thrown himself back in his chair, 
and was gloomily regarding the large signet ring 
which he twisted to and fro on his finger. He 
looked up at Argyle’s approach. 

“You have matter of importance to communi- 
cate, my lord marquis ? ” 


204 


Bnne ot 


I have a despatch which I would fain have 
placed in your Majesty’s hands before this meet- 
ing,” answered Argyle, had not my zealous 
Lome found an entrance before me.” 

Since it could not have altered the answer to 
yonder demand,” returned Charles, “your news 
may not have lessened in value by the delay.” 

“ Alas ! ” answered Argyle, “ my tidings is as 
that of the messengers who came to Job.” 

“ I scarce understand, my lord,” said Charles, 
somewhat petulantly. “ Have our arms suffered 
some reverse ? ” 

“ God forbid ! ” said Argyle, with some haste. 
Then he added more slowly : “ The Commission 
of Assembly have ventured upon so serious a 
measure as to pass an Act providing for your 
Majesty’s refusal to sign this declaration. A 
copy has been brought to me express by a trusty 
messenger.” 

Here he took a paper from his pocket and 
handed it to the King. The latter glanced over 
it, and a frown darkened his brow as he mastered 
the contents. These amounted to nothing short 
of a throwing off of the royal allegiance. In suf- 
ficiently strong language the framers intimated 
their intention to “ support the King no longer 
than he supported the cause of God,” declaring 
that “ they espoused no Malignant quarrel or 


Bnne of 


205 


party, nor acknowledged the King nor his inter- 
est otherwise than in subordination to God.” 

“ Methinks,” said Charles, as he handed back 
the document, ‘‘ I am fated to listen to more trea- 
son to-day than ever was offered to a king’s ears 
before.” 

“ Something must be done to meet this,” an- 
swered Argyle, avoiding the King’s remark, 
which perhaps struck him as true enough. ‘‘ If 
the Kirk withdraw its sanction from the war, 
while the army of the English sectaries still lies 
before Edinburgh, the act means ruin.” 

“ Let it come,” said the King, wearily ; “ I am 
sick enough of this barren dignity, this heaping 
of insult upon insult. Let it end, and perhaps 
the sooner the better.” 

Matters are not yet so far gone but that the 
foot of the King may be turned aside from the 
pit. I would have your Majesty’s assent to a 
still further effort.” 

** It seems to me, my Lord of Argyle,” returned 
Charles, “ that these efforts of yours have until 
now borne but indifferent fruit.” 

would crave your patience but a little 
longer,” answered the diplomatist quietly, and 
rising to an occasion in which the prize to be 
gained was not greater than the craft needed for 
securing it, he proceeded to reawaken the royal 


2o6 


Bnne of 


hopes. “ Were a decided victory but vouchsafed 
to our arms,” he said, and the English troops 
removed, the situation would be in our own hands, 
and I then should be able to prove in full my 
earnestness to serve your Majesty.” 

“Yet,” replied the King, “this cannot be 
achieved unless I consent to sign yonder dis- 
honoring declaration.” Here he frowned indig- 
nantly. “ Speak to me no more of it.” 

“ If my liege would bear with me I would sug- 
gest another way whereby the end might be 
gained without encroachment upon your Majes- 
ty’s proper honor.” 

“ And that is?” 

Argyle paused but a moment, then in a firm 
voice made straight towards his deeply-cherished 
purpose. 

“Your Majesty will believe me,” he said, 
“ that it is only the unwonted situation of affairs 
that urges me to put forth so delicate an exped- 
ient. You are aware that it is the lack of assur- 
ance regarding your Majesty’s approval of the 
doctrines of the Covenant which forms the chief 
stumbling-block at the moment. Were your 
Majesty, however, to give some undeniable assur- 
ance of respect for the principles of the Presby- 
terian party, that stumbling-block would be re- 
moved. This, I would humbly submit, might 


Bnne ot 


207 


best be done by marrying into some Scottish 
family of quality and influence attached beyond 
question to the Presbyterian interest.” 

The young King’s eyes at this suggestion were 
riveted upon the face of his adviser with a gaze 
which Argyle, fully prepared for it, met without 
wavering. 

“ The politician,” said Charles,” who makes 
such a proposition will doubtless be able to sug- 
gest a suitable lady.” 

“ Your Majesty,” returned the marquis steadily, 
“ could give no firmer assurance to the country 
than by a marriage with the daughter of 
Argyle.” * 

Charles sprang from his chair, and for a full 
minute paced rapidly up and down the chamber. 
It was a thrilling as well as a daring proposition 
which had been made to him. The embarrass- 

* “ It is mentioned by Lord Dartmouth, in his MS. notes on 
Burnet, quoted in Rose’s observations on Fox (p. 176) that on 
his arrival Argyle informed his Majesty that he could not serve 
him as he desired unless he gave some undeniable proof of a 
fixed resolution to support the Presbyterian party, which he 
thought would be best done by marrying into some family of 
quality and influence attached to that interest, and thought 
his own daughter would be the properest match for him. . . . 
Certain it is that the Presbyterian party, at the head of 
which was Argyle, was then the strongest, and it is likely that, 
with a sincere desire to serve his Majesty, the ambition of that 


2o8 


2lnne of Brgsle. 


ments of the hour had all at once assumed a clear 
and lurid meaning. Argyle, playing for a high 
stake at a subtle and dangerous game, was for 
the moment master of the situation. He had 
waited to make his final proposition till the alter- 
natives were acquiescence or ruin. The King 
perceived this at a glance, and in a few seconds 
had made up his mind how he should act. 

Turning to the marquis, who was waiting his 
answer in silence, and grasping him by the hand, 
Charles looked straight into the inscrutable cross- 
eyes, and said briefly — 

“ My lord, I take you at your word.” 

“ In that case,” Argyle hastened to reply, the 
way is clear. Upon this announcement the 
Estates will be satisfied with a modified declara- 
tion, which your Majesty may sign without filial 
scruple,* and, to assure even the most grave 

nobleman might have led him to entertain such a design, with a 
view of advancing both his Majesty’s interests and his own, as 
well as the cause of the Presbyterian religion, while the report 
that the King was to marry his daughter was prevalent at the 
time.” — “ The Scottish Nation^^ art. Archibald Campbell. 

“This singular piece of secret history is most circumstantially 
related by old Kirkton, a contemporary, having the best means 
of information, honest and unsophisticated, himself a Covenan- 
ter, and candid and respectful to the memory of the great mar- 
quis.” — Dodd's Struggles of the Covenanters f p. 69. 

*For purposes of brevity a slight liberty is here taken in 
running several different occurrences together. In reality the 


Hnne of 


209 


doubters of the Kirk, the marriage can be ar- 
ranged for an early day.” 

'' But,” cried Charles, a little aghast at the 
threatened hastening of the nuptial tie, “ I do not 
yet know the Lady Anne.” 

“ It is a shortcoming soon remedied in a royal 
wooer,” returned Argyle, composedly. ‘^Anne 
and her mother lie but a morning’s ride hence, 
at Perth.” 

Half an hour later, Montrose, waiting with 
grooms and horses, according to agreement, close 
by the postern gate of the palace, perceived with 
intense delight the King coming to keep his tryst. 
The face of the latter wore an air of peculiar 
abstraction, and he exchanged little more than a 
casual greeting with his adherent as he got into 
the saddle. 

After assisting Charles to mount, Montrose 
ventured to mention his proposed route. 

“ By Stirling to Fintry and Killearn, I think ? ” 
he said. 

repugnant declaration was first submitted for the King’s signature 
at Dunfermline on the 9th of August, the meeting of Privy 
Council was held on the 13th, and the modified declaration was 
finally signed on the i6th. “ After much disputation some alter- 
ations in words were accorded on, it being written over in mundo, 
his Majesty signed the same on Friday, the i6th day of August, 
about 3 in the afternoon, and immediately thereafter took horse 
for Perth.” — Balfour's Annals, vol. iv. 


210 


Bnne of Brssle. 


“ Not at present,” said Charles, with a curious 
smile. We will take the road by Kinross 
and the Bridge of Earn to the city of Perth 
instead.” 


Bnne ot Brggle. 


2II 


CHAPTER XVI. 

“ O sleep ye, wake ye, Lillie-Flower ? 

The red sun’s on the rain ; 

Ye’re bidden come to Sillerwood, 

But I doubt ye’ll ne’er win hame.” 

Jellon Grame. 

The object of Charles in assenting so readily 
to the matrimonial proposition of Argyle, and in 
taking horse so soon afterwards for the fair city 
of St. Johnston, may readily be conjectured. At 
the moment, MacCallum More, however skilfully 
he might veil the fact for purposes of his own, 
was all but absolute master of the situation in 
Scotland. It was therefore essential that at all 
hazards he should be attached to the royal cause. 
At a glance Charles perceived that the alliance 
with his daughter was proposed upon no sudden 
impulse, and that to thwart Argyle on this point 
would be not only to alienate his interest, but 
to excite his apprehensions. Were the Presby- 
terian leader once made conscious of having pre- 
sumed too far in so delicate a matter, he was 


212 


Bnne of 


likely to be in no haste to see his Prince installed 
in an independent position. Perhaps, however, 
a less diplomatic and more personal reason con- 
tributed somewhat towards the assent of Charles. 
Naturally of a somewhat pleasure-loving disposi- 
tion, it may be understood that the grave and 
sombre life which, under surveillance of the 
divines of the Kirk, he had been constrained to 
lead since coming to Scotland, had not been one 
altogether suited to his taste. The prospect 
therefore of excitement, however hazardous, 
which the proposition held out, could not but be 
welcome enough. The Prince, accordingly, with- 
out too lengthy a consideration, had given his 
consent. As for the likelihood of being called 
upon to implement his promise, that could be 
left to chance. He was in no worse position than 
the Eastern sage who, on pain of immediate 
death, promised to teach the sultan’s ass to speak, 
but stipulated for ten years in w'hich to accom- 
plish the task, reasoning with himself that in ten 
years the ass might die, the sultan might die, or 
he himself might die. Before Charles could be 
called upon actually to marry the Lady Anne the 
political situation might alter, or the lady herself 
might refuse, and at the last extremity, if, as 
report said, the daughter of Argyle was so dif- 
ferent from her father as to be a prize of beauty 


Bnne ot 


213 


and gentleness, the King confessed to himself 
that his fate might be worse. Meanwhile the 
situation possessed all the charm of an adventure 
to which the personal stake lent a peculiar in- 
terest. 

No sooner, on the other hand, had Charles 
given his consent than he became eager to dis- 
cover for himself the charms of the lady upon 
whom to some extent his own fate and fortunes 
were now made to depend. It was natural that 
he should wish to make her acquaintance and 
ascertain her disposition before any communica- 
tion or injunction from her father should bring 
upon her the least prejudice or constraint. To- 
wards this object no better means suggested itself 
than the escort which Montrose had agreed to 
hold in readiness at the close of the Privy Council 
meeting. Before even a special messenger could 
carry thither the message of Argyle, Charles him- 
self would have reached Perth, and, availing him- 
self of the hospitality of the marquis’s house- 
hold, with a lover-like impetuosity which that 
nobleman could hardly resent, he would have 
effected his purpose. Hence it came about that 
Montrose, waiting for the word which should 
raise him from the late irksome inactivity of the 
Court to his natural position of a leader in the 
field, and enable him to strike a blow at last for 


214 


Bnne of 


his family fortunes and his King which, he 
secretly hoped, should bring him nearer to a still 
more warmly cherished end, found himself sud- 
denly riding in an unexpected direction upon an 
errand which he was entirely at a loss to guess. 

He was not left long, however, in this state of 
uncertainty. Aware that in common courtesy 
he owed his adherent some explanation for the 
sudden change of destination, Charles only waited 
until they were fairly out of the precincts of the 
city, on the road towards Kinross, before reveal- 
ing to Montrose something of what had hap- 
pened. 

“After all, my gallant Graham,” he said, “ fate 
appears too strong for us.” 

“Your Majesty,” answered Montrose, some- 
what disconcerted by v/hat appeared the royal 
fickleness, “ has every right to change his mind.” 

“ But the Graham,” returned Charles with a 
smile, “ does not feel bound to admire the change ? 
Content thyself, however, my good Montrose ! 
the word is still war, only the campaign is 
changed from the field of Mars to the Court of 
Venus, and, believe me, the light rapiers of that 
Court can be made to pierce to the full as keenly, 
and to serve our present purpose altogether as 
well, as the heavier broadswords of the field.” 

“ You are pleased to be merry, my liege,” re- 


Bnne of 215 

plied Montrose, by no means conciliated by the 
apparent tenor of the King’s suggestion, and I 
confess my poor wits find riddles difficult to 
understand.” 

“ Tush, man ! ” returned the King, if you 
must needs have a State secret in bald English — 
Charles Stuart, with the due permission of the 
marquis, her father, is about to pay his respects 
to the Lady Anne Campbell of Argyle.” 

The interest of these words to their hearer may 
easily be understood ; the suddenness of their 
effect upon his appearance is hardly to be im- 
agined. For a moment, as if an abyss of horror 
had opened at his feet, he was speechless, while 
the first rush of blood died away and left his face 
pale to the lips, and his unconscious clutch of 
the reins, like that of a man struck by a bullet, 
caused his horse to curvet violently. When at 
last he found words, it Was only to ejaculate “ My 
liege ” and again to become silent. 

These spasmodic movements, however, were 
by no means lost upon the King. The sudden 
change of his companion’s face he beheld with a 
look of amazement which quickly changed into 
one of pain. Pausing, however, to reflect a mo- 
ment, he apparently made up his mind to take 
no notice for the present of what he had seen, 
but made it appear that he had been occupied at 


2i6 


Bnne of 


the instant with a strap of his saddle harness. 
When he spoke again, however, it was in a some- 
what quieter tone. 

‘^You see, after all, my dear Montrose,” he 
said, “ the fairer sex has something still to say 
in our most weighty schemes. Helen of Troy 
was not the last who has made or mended 
war.” 

The brief pause which followed this remark 
was broken by Montrose, speaking in a low, con- 
trolled voice. 

“ Am I to understand,” he asked, “ that your 
Majesty intends at all hazards to urge this suit 
upon the Lady Anne ?” 

“ Methinks, Montrose,” replied Charles, a trifle 
haughtily, “ a vainer man than I might answer 
that the suit, perchance, may need small urging. 
As for hazards,” — here he turned away to con- 
ceal a smile, — “ in affairs of love these must be 
taken as they come. Yet,” he added in a less 
rallying tone, “ I will be frank and confess that 
the matter lies altogether in the lady’s hands. 
They say she is fair,” — here Charles glanced curi- 
ously at his companion, who grew, if anything, a 
shade paler at the remark — if she prove equally 
kind I do not see how I shall resist. On the 
other hand, I warrant you, there shall be no com- 
pulsion. The man is a fool and deserves his cer- 


Bnne of Brgijle. 


217 

tain fate, even though he be a king, who weds a 
maid without entire assurance of her heart.’* 

More than once during this colloquy Montrose 
had been tempted to confide in Charles, but it 
had hardly needed a second thought to recall the 
fact that he had no right to forestall the free 
choice of Anne herself. He could not but re- 
member that his own fortunes were most precari- 
ous, and that his ultimate hope of overcoming 
the feudal animosity of Argyle could be but 
slender. On the other hand, Anne, with the full 
approval of her father, was about to be offered 
no less an honor than the crown of Scotland, if 
not of the three kingdoms, while weighty matters 
of national policy hung upon her acceptance or 
refusal. It was true, at the same time, that his 
own love-suit with Lady Anne had already gone 
so far that in any lighter circumstances he might 
have been justified in throwing down the gauntlet 
of defiance to the presumptuous new-comer. A 
less scrupulous lover in his position might even 
have extended his justification so far as to afford 
a suggestion of the situation to the royal suitor. 
In the peculiar position of Montrose, however, 
this was out of the question ; matters must be 
left to take their own course. Meanwhile the 
anxious lover was fain to comfort himself with 
the assurance which the King had given that no 


2i8 


Bnne of 


undue influence should be suffered to coerce the 
lady. On this point only he allowed himself to 
venture a word of warning. 

“ A match so congenial, my liege,” he said, “is 
not likely to lack the utmost fatherly furtherance 
of Argyle.” 

“ Therein,” replied Charles, “ lies the chief 
point of fence. It were the part of but a blind 
worshipper to mistake copper gilt for true gold — 
filial obedience for love of the heart. Moreover, 
if report speak truth, the Lady Anne is not with- 
out a lover already who has doubtless seized 
every opportunity to push his suit, and she is the 
less likely, therefore, to play the part of willing 
catspaw.” 

“ A lover ! ” exclaimed Montrose, with diffi- 
culty concealing his anxiety at the news. “ Has 
your Majesty heard the name of this rival ? ” 

“Tush!” returned the King, touching his 
steed with the spur to conceal his amusement. 
“ I speak but by report. Some dashing fellow, 
doubtless, of our western nobles, favored perhaps 
by my Lady of Argyle.” 

With this, Charles put his horse to a canter, 
which effectually precluded further talk on the 
subject, while Montrose followed in a state of 
mind which may be left to the imagination. 

Nothing further of note occurred until, a little 


Bnne of 


219 


before nightfall, the party reached Perth. The 
discovery which he had made upon the road, 
however, had had some effect in altering the 
Prince’s plans. Remembering one or two inci- 
dents — the accident of Montrose’s arrival in 
Stirling in company with the daughter of Argyle, 
and the evidently tender tete-h-tete in which the 
young nobleman had been all but surprised under 
the walls of Edinburgh Castle — Charles found 
small difficulty in believing from his companion’s 
confusion at suggestion of royal pretensions to 
the hand of Anne, that the interest of the young 
chief of Graham was more deeply engaged than 
he cared to confess. As that interest, from the 
circumstance of the tHe-h-tete already mentioned, 
might be taken to be mutual, Charles felt com- 
pelled to a considerable change of his intended 
policy. While relieved from anxiety of one 
sort — the chance that his suit might receive a too 
ready acceptance at the hands of the damsel — he 
was now no less embarrassed by the necessity of 
playing a more complicated part. It was a kind 
of intrigue, however, in which, if history may be 
believed, he was already not altogether unversed, 
and he prepared with some interest to meet the 
emergency. 

It was probably in pursuance of his change of 
plan that on reaching Kinross he sent a mes- 


220 


Bnne of 


senger back to Dunfermline, to inform Argyle 
that he was already so far on his way to Perth — 
anticipating, as it actually turned out, that the 
politic marquis would lose no time in hastening 
to prevent such miscarriage of his plan as might 
occur from lack of his presence and influence 
with his daughter. The King also, on reaching 
the Fair City, departed from his original inten- 
tion and took up his lodging at some distance 
from the ascertained residence of the family of 
Argyle. 

Thus it came about that, instead of making a 
sudden dash, under pretence of lover-like impa- 
tience, to discover for himself from his reception 
at the hands of Lady Anne, while yet her natural 
preferences might be expected to declare them- 
selves, exactly how much ardor or reserve would 
be necessary to his policy — instead of this he de- 
ferred making any approaches at all until the fol- 
lowing day, and then he accomplished his intro- 
duction in the presence and under the full super- 
vision of Argyle himself. 

In order to understand the sentiments of the 
Presbyterian marquis at this juncture of his his- 
tory, it is necessary to remember that he was en- 
tering not only upon a piece of diplomacy in 
which the most delicate tact was needed, but an 
intrigue in which success would be as triumphant 


Bnne of 


221 


as failure could not but be ruinous. Should he 
succeed in bringing about the match which he 
desired, the long labors of his career of ambitious 
scheming would be crowned by an event which 
promised both to confirm power permanently 
in his hands, and to raise his house to a position 
in the State beyond the reach of rivalry. The 
darkest and most doubtful means by which he 
had wrought towards his ends would be more 
than justified in his mind if at last the race of 
MacCallum More could be brought to sit upon 
the Scottish throne. Whatever his reasoning 
with himself, having played for so high a stake, 
his presumption did not fail at the critical mo- 
ment for securing the prize. 

The time chosen for effecting the introduction 
which was to prove so fruitful of results to the 
House of Campbell, was the evening following 
that of Charles’s arrival in Perth. In the first 
instance Argyle, departing for the nonce from 
his usual rule of banishing such worldly frivoli- 
ties from his dwelling, had proposed to entertain 
the King with a banquet, in the course of which 
the royal wooer should be able to make the first 
advances in his suit. But, not unmindful, per- 
haps, of the extent to which the unscrupulous 
nobleman had already been tempted more than 
once to stretch his powers when an object of 


222 


Bnnc of Brg^le. 


his feudal ambition was at stake, and by no means 
desiring to be urged by any such ultimatum of 
force to a marriage on the spot, Charles had 
reversed this arrangement. He himself should 
hold a reception, which Argyle with his mar- 
chioness and the Lady Anne would be expected 
to attend. 

It was still early, therefore, in the afternoon of 
the seventeenth of August when the streets of 
Perth in the neighborhood of the King’s lodging 
gave signs that something unusual was astir. 
State carriages which had not been used since 
Charles I. last visited the neighborhood were now 
brought once more into requisition in order that 
the notables of the shire might duly pay their 
respects to their youthful sovereign. One after 
another in continuous succession these equip- 
ages, varied by a less imposing array of sedan- 
chairs, approached the precincts of the royal 
apartments and set down their burdens. For, 
whatever might be the qualified loyalty of the 
metropolis under the influence of the Covenant- 
ing Parliament, there was no lack of proper en- 
thusiasm for the royal house in the gallant capi- 
tal of the eastern Highlands. And as the oc- 
cupants of the several conveyances stepped one 
after another across the plain-stones, and the 
good people of Perth recognized in them the 


Umc of Braille* 


223 


bearers of historic names of the countryside, a 
shout of acclamation again and again testified 
the good will of St. Johnston. 

Within the royal apartments the scene was 
perhaps the most brilliant in which Charles had 
yet taken part since coming to Scotland. In Ed- 
inburgh his residence had been attended by no 
such outbreak of festivity as in later years was to 
mark the arrival, in somewhat similar circum- 
stances, of his successor, Prince Charles Edward. 
It was reserved for the Highand lords and gen- 
tlemen upon the arrival of Charles II. in their 
midst to make a welcome worthy of the oc- 
casion,* and it must be confessed that in no 
point did they fall short of the most loyal demon- 
stration. No dress in the world, perhaps, is more 
picturesque than that of the Scottish Highlands, 
and here it was seen to the utmost advantage, 
the flashing of jewels and waving of tartans con- 
trasting effectively with the gallant Court dress — 
rich satin doublets ruffled and laced, wide knee- 
breeches tied with ribbon, fine silk stockings, and 
buckled shoes — of Charles’s southern followers. 

In the midst of this magnificence the King 
himself, dressed plainly but richly in dark ma- 

*The magnificence of the young King’s coronation, a few 
months later, in the ancient palace of Scone close by attracts the 
description of every historian of the time. 


224 


:anne ot Brgsle. 


terial, and wearing no decoration but the order 
of the Thistle, appeared to the first advantage 
in a sphere, in which he was peculiarly fitted to 
shine. Familiar, apparently, with the antece- 
dents and family interests of most of those pre- 
sented to him, he was able in the case of others 
to make so gracious a recognition of their per- 
sonal loyalty that in no instance did he fail to 
produce a strong feeling in his favor. 

It was when this scene was at its height, and 
Charles, moving from one group to another of 
those present, was, by the looks and expressions 
of royal interest which he knew so well how to 
use, confirming and strengthening in every direc- 
tion the first impression he had made, that the 
Marquis and Marchioness of Argyle were an- 
nounced. Even in that courtly assembly a per- 
ceptible pause occurred, and by an instinctive 
movement an opening was left, as the grim Pres- 
byterian marquis, most dreaded as he was per- 
haps best hated peer in the realm, made his way, 
accompanied by his marchioness and the Lady 
Anne, towards the King. 

Montrose, standing apart from a group near 
the door failed to hear, much less to reply to, 
the rallying speech of a young nobleman at his 
elbow who foolishly ventured to remark his un- 
wonted paleness. He did not even see the quick 


iiiine of 


225 


significant glance cast in his direction by Argyle 
himself, a glance which at another moment he 
would probably have returned with one as fierce. 
His gaze was intent upon the Lady Anne, and it 
was with a sudden unreasoning rebound of hope 
that he perceived her to be deadly pale. From 
this sign he was fain to feel assured that she had 
not been brought to the present pass without 
strong compulsion. In such sudden access of 
hope, however, he forgot to take account of the 
almost absolute power in the matter of their 
daughters’ settlement which was exercised by the 
fathers of those days. 

Argyle passed on ; in due course his lady and 
he paid their devoirs to the King, and another 
moment saw the Lady Anne’s fateful introduc- 
tion accomplished. Then a thing happened 
which was considered to be especially significant 
by those who witnessed the proceeding. With a 
deep courtesy the debutante, as the custom was, 
was about to kiss the hand of the monarch, when 
by a quick and gracious movement he prevented 
her. Then turning slightly apart with her, he 
whispered half a sentence in an undertone, which 
had the effect of instantly suffusing the maiden’s 
face and neck with blushes ; whereupon, bending 
low, he pressed his lips upon her hand, and with 
a significant smile restored her to her father. 

15 


226 


2lnne of 


CHAPTER XVII. 

“ Though father and mother and a’ should gang mad, 

It’s whistle, and I’ll come to ye, my lad.” 

ScoU Song. 


As has been suggested in the last chapter, the 
power of a father like Argyle over the disposal of 
his daughter’s hand was, in the days of which we 
write, all but absolute and unquestioned. The 
statement, of course, must be taken as applying 
only to families of high rank. Among the amen- 
ities of the humbler spheres of life then as now 
were to be counted those of greater freedom and 
less responsibility. Even to-day the daughters 
of the people enjoy in many ways a liberty which 
is not permissible to those of higher birth — a 
liberty which lends to their life some of its dearest 
charm, and must be considered as not the least 
compensation among the exigencies of a ruder 
fortune. The daughter of a noble house of the 
seventeenth century had, in the matter of her 
alliance, a more deliberate part to play than that 
of mere affection. Her marriage must be made 


tHune of %vq^Ic. 


227 


to serve the fortunes of her family, and nothing, 
therefore, would have been thought more out of 
the question than for a maiden to hope in this 
matter to follow so simple a plan as that of pleas- 
ing herself. Added to the worldly compulsion 
which might be brought to bear in the case, the 
injunctions of religion towards filial obedience 
were of themselves in those days more than suffi- 
ciently binding, and it would have been regarded 
as a breaking of one of the most sacred command- 
ments should a daughter in this, the most impor- 
tant action of her life, refuse to follow the direc- 
tions of her parents. 

Thus it came about that Anne, on her father 
expressing his definite desire that she should 
receive the addresses of the young Prince with a 
view to accepting his hand, had ventured to offer 
little more than a negative resistance. A man of 
more scruple or of more delicacy than Argyle, it 
is true, might have trusted to subtler means to 
influence his daughter, or, if he had followed the 
blunter policy, would have needed no stronger 
expression of the girl’s feelings on the subject to 
convince him of her reluctance and distress. As 
it was, the marquis had seen Anne grow pale and 
tearful at his first suggestion of the project, and 
he had seen the prospect which he had set before 
her, telling day by day upon her health and 


228 


Bnne of 


spirits, without being in the least degree moved 
from his ambitious design. Such, he perhaps ar- 
gued with himself, was no more than the conduct 
to be expected from an inexperienced girl, whose 
caprices and imaginings must in no way be allowed 
to interfere with the due working out of a family 
policy, and whose inclinations were likely to be 
soon enough bent in a more favorable direction 
by the wooing of a royal lover. 

If this was his expectation it must have been 
strongly confirmed by Anne’s demeanor upon her 
reception by Charles. Pale as a lily and trembling 
like a leaf, she had gone with her parents to be 
presented to the Prince. With nerveless steps, 
and limbs scarcely able to support even her light 
weight, she had made her way into the royal 
apartments. And lo ! a whispered word from the 
Prince, a tender salute, and her whole aspect was 
changed. The blushes had sped over her cheek 
and throat, her eyes had been cast down in appar- 
ent confusion and pleasure, and a smile had 
quivered about the piteous corners of her mouth. 
So obviously were these the signs of a sudden 
prepossession in favor of the princely suitor that 
even the Lady of Argyle, between whom and her 
lord there had been more than one scene of dif- 
ference on the subject, now, not without some 
surprise at the behavior of her daughter, confessed 


Bnne of Braijle, 


22 ^ 

herself satisfied with the match. Anne’s demean- 
or upon that occasion had also by no means es- 
caped the quick notice of Montrose, who, with the 
sensitiveness of a lover, had proved only too ready 
to draw the worst conclusions from it. 

Upon the occasion in question, Charles, with 
the courtly diplomacy of which he afterwards 
showed himself so deft a master, had succeeded 
in producing the result remarked, and in pleasing 
all persons concerned, by a simple enough expe- 
dient. He had merely whispered to the trem- 
bling girl that he had no higher wish than to be her 
true friend, and to do all in his power to further 
the suit of his cousin of Montrose ; meanwhile he 
urged her to fear nothing and to keep her own 
counsel. These words had been the talisman 
which brought back Anne’s lightness of spirit at 
the same time that, revealing the King’s knowledge 
of her relations with another suitor, they covered 
her with surprise and confusion. 

Montrose, however, had no opportunity of be- 
coming aware either of the intentions of Charles, 
or of the thoughts of Anne herself. Argyle, mind- 
ful of the suspicions he had already acquired, of 
his lady’s sympathy with so undesirable a suitor, 
was not likely to omit any precaution to prevent 
any weakness on her part from interfering with 
the issue of his plans. Thus it was that, in the 


230 


Bnne of 


days following the Prince’s reception, Anne found 
her secret efforts to communicate with Montrose 
frustrated continually in some simple but effective 
way. 

Charles himself might have set his follower’s 
mind at rest by a word or two, but several reasons 
probably prevented his doing so. In the first 
place, Montrose had not chosen to confide in him 
upon more than one occasion when he had the 
opportunity. The suspense itself, too, he might 
consider, was not a bad thing in its way, and would 
only add to the value of the prize in the lover’s 
mind when that prize should at last be won. In 
these reasons there was just that slight spice of 
mischief which in later years, in affairs of the kind 
at his Court, characterized the proceedings of 
Charles. But behind them, probably, lay uncon- 
fessed a much more weighty consideration. In 
the critical position in which he was placed, it was 
just possible that he might be unable to escape 
Argyle’s entanglements, and so be compelled to 
marry the lady after all. In that case probably 
he thought he could trust to her woman’s nature 
to reconcile Anne herself ; it would be another 
and entirely different matter to break a faith once 
pledged to one of his own sex. 

So it came about that Montrose, from both 
directions to which he might have looked for in- 


Bnne of arggle. 


231 


formation, was left entirely in the dark. Worst 
of all, just when matters, so far as he was con- 
cerned, stood in this unsatisfactory state, news 
suddenly reached Perth that a crisis had arrived 
at the seat of war, and he was despatched with 
the greatest urgency by Charles to watch the 
issue of the movements on the south side of the 
Forth. 

Torn by distracting thoughts, and filled with 
the gloomiest misgivings, it was, at the moment, 
with something of a feeling of desperation that 
he received the secret but imperative message of 
Charles which was to carry him away from the 
scene of his hopes and fears, and from all oppor- 
tunity, little as such opportunity seemed likely to 
occur, of helping his cause with the daughter of 
Argyle. But once armed and mounted, and in 
the open air, his natural courage began to rise ; 
action, bold and stirring, was at least before him, 
and among the movements of the armies in the 
field, which he was sent to watch, he began to see 
the possibility of issues deeply affecting both him- 
self and the object of his hopes. He would have 
given much to have been at liberty before leaving 
Perth to make one last effort to effect a commun- 
ication with Anne, and for a moment he thought 
of riding slowly in his armor past the mansion oc- 
cupied by Argyle, in order at least to apprise her. 


Bnnc of Brg^te* 


232 

if she happened to be at any of the casements, 
that he was leaving the city. His errand, how- 
ever, demanded not only despatch but some 
measure of prudence, and it hardly needed a sec- 
ond reflection to convince him of the folly, in the 
circumstances, of flaunting his departure on the 
King’s mission before the notice of Argyle. With 
a single sigh for his hard fate, therefore, he turned 
his horse’s head towards the south, and, followed 
by Guthrie on a round-barrelled steed, which that 
worthy had himself chosen for certain qualities of 
strength rather than appearance, set forth on the 
road leading out by the Wicks of Baiglie. 

Here, however, by one of those surprises with 
which fortune sometimes reverses an entire train 
of circumstance, he was suddenly furnished with 
new and exciting food for thought. 

It was immediately after leaving the gates of 
Perth, and just when his steed, clear of the inter- 
ruptions of the narrow street, was settling down 
steadily to the long journey before him, that 
Graham became aware of a carriage rapidly ap- 
proaching the town from another direction. 

None but people of the highest rank at that 
time used this form of conveyance except upon 
state occasions, and the young Cavalier knew of 
no function calling for ceremony just then afoot 
in Perth. His impression that the occupants of 


Bnne of Bre^le. 


233 


the carriage must be persons of the first impor- 
tance increased as the great vehicle drew near, 
swinging heavily on its leathern springs. A few 
moments served to bring it within a stone’s throw, 
its six horses dragging it at a smart pace over the 
inequalities of the road ; and as he drew to the 
side to let it pass, a sudden fire shot to his 
heart, and the jerk which he unconsciously gave 
to his horse’s rein almost drew the animal to its 
haunches. 

The window of the carriage was open, doubt- 
less for the heat of the day, and within, for a 
moment, he had caught sight of the sinister face, 
and had met the piercing gaze of Argyle himself. 
But another thing, of much more exciting im- 
port, had happened at the same time. Sitting 
there, with her back to the horses, as the carriage 
whirled past, for one flying second he had seen, 
and exchanged a look of recognition with no 
other than Anne herself. 

Immediately afterwards as, wild with excite- 
ment, he gazed after the fast-departing chariot, 
he saw a slender hand appear at the carriage win- 
dow, and a white handkerchief flutter to the 
ground. 

Anne doubtless had chosen a moment when 
her father’s gaze was turned away, to drop the 
signal — for a signal it undoubtedly was ; and as 


234 


Bnne of 


Montrose picked it up and placed it carefully in 
his breast, a whole tide of hot, new emotions 
seemed surging through his heart and brain. It 
was as another man that he turned at last, reset- 
tled himself in the saddle, and patting his steed, 
with a word of light-hearted raillery to Guthrie, 
who had remained during the entire occurrence 
discreetly silent, resumed his journey towards 
the seat of war. 

To return to the King, however. When at his 
first meeting with Anne, in the manner which 
has been described, he whispered the words 
which wrought such an instant change in her feel- 
ings and appearance, it must be said for him that 
he in no way doubted his power finally to thwart 
the intentions of Argyle, and not only to escape 
himself from the meshes of entanglement woven 
around him, but to play the pleasant part of deus 
ex machind in bringing about the happy union of 
Montrose and the Lady Anne. For the accom- 
plishment of this purpose, however, it may be 
surmised, he had trusted rather to the chapter of 
lucky accidents, and to that good fortune which is 
said to help the brave, than to any very definite 
plan of action which he could have formed. So 
it came about that, as the days ran on, he had 
cause more than once to doubt his ultimate power 
of successfully resisting the ambitious design 


Bnnc of 


235 


of Argyle. Not once losing sight of the purpose 
to be attained, that nobleman turned every acci- 
dent and phase of the situation to account, and 
brought forward pretext after pretext for the 
hastening of the marriage. At the same time, he 
had craft enough to see to it that the Prince did 
not lack opportunities of becoming better ac- 
quainted with his daughter ; and it was with satis- 
faction that he perceived his diplomacy appar- 
ently gaining ground. As the Presbyterian forces 
in the field continued uniformly successful, the 
political power of Argyle attained ever more con- 
firmed and formidable proportions, while resist- 
ance to his will became less and less possible, 
not to say politic. Nor was it to be expected 
that the disposition of Charles should continue 
utterly proof against the charms of the maid with 
whom he was brought into relations of so much 
delicacy. Perhaps, indeed, it is not too much to 
say that, as time passed, the chief danger of the 
situation lay in the feelings of the young King 
himself. 

Matters were in this position, and Charles had, 
so far, successfully avoided committing himself 
to any definite arrangement with regard to his 
alliance with Anne, when news arrived that the 
English army was in full retreat from Edinburgh. 
The intelligence was communicated to the King 


236 


Bnne ot 


by Argyle himself, and from the excessive calm- 
ness and deliberation of the latter at the inter- 
view, the young monarch concluded with ap- 
prehension that the Presbyterian leader was about 
to play his trump card. It was therefore with no 
little misgiving that, on the evening of the day 
on which the news of the retreat had arrived, 
Charles received the announcement that the 
marquis sought a second audience. The par- 
ticulars of this meeting, and of the dramatic 
events which immediately followed it, must form 
the subject of a separate chapter. 


Bnne of Brgglc. 


237 


CHAPTER XVIII. 

“ The day it was fixed and the bridal to be.” 

Lady Grizel Baillie, 

It had been a day of chill, continuous rain, 
such as not unfrequently happens towards the 
beginning of autumn, and a fire had been lighted 
in the royal apartment. Charles, alone for the 
moment, was leaning against the side of the ingle 
watching the play of the clear wood flames about 
the brass dogs on the hearth, and indulging 
in thoughts evidently of a mixed and bodeful 
character, when the Presbyterian marquis was 
announced. As the latter advanced into the 
room from the fitful shadows which the firelight 
cast upon the arras, the King started to see the 
central figure of his musings appear thus bodily 
in his presence. Of late Argyle had presumed 
upon the position of a prospective father-in-law 
to insinuate his company at all times and seasons 
upon Charles, till the Prince had come to feel 
almost haunted by the sombre figure, with its 


238 


Bnne of 


constant prying supervision and the air of con- 
straint which it brought. 

It was this feeling which at the present 
moment struck with peculiar discord upon the 
humor of Charles ; and in other circumstances, it 
is probable, the intruder would have fared but 
indifferently at his hands. The Prince, however, 
was politic enough in the immediate instance to 
give no sign of irking, and it was in a perfectly 
controlled voice that he greeted the statesman. 

“ My lord,” he said, turning to his visitor with 
a half familiar inclination of welcome, “ you have 
already to-day been the bearer of pregnant news ; 
further dispatches must be of pressing import.” 

‘‘ Despatches have indeed reached me,” re- 
turned Argyle, but they bring no news beyond 
the fact that the enemy continue to retreat. It 
was, however, of a matter more personally con- 
cerning us both that I came hither to speak, 
using towards you the liberty of one who is 
presently to assume the close relationship of a 
father.” 

Here the speaker gave the strongest evidence 
of his assumption of the liberty of which he 
spoke by turning a tapestry chair from the wall 
at hand to face the firelight, and seating himself 
on it in an attitude of familiar ease while the 
King still remained standing. 


Bnne of 


239 


If it had never before dawned upon the mind 
of Argyle that Charles was more politic than sin- 
cere in his dealings with him he might have 
found cause for suspicion now. At an ordinary 
moment the young King might good-humoredly 
have condoned the liberty thus taken in his pres- 
ence by a courtier so much older than himself, 
but, in the circumstances in which this nobleman 
now stood to him, even so slight an act assumed 
a vital significance. A threatening flash leapt to 
the eyes of Charles, and the lines of his features, 
even at that age strongly marked, deepened for a 
moment with resentment. Recovering his self- 
possession instantly, however, he gave no further 
sign of disapproval than that he himself remained 
standing during the interview. It is possible 
that, while cognizant enough of the real disposi- 
tion of the Prince towards him, Argyle was too 
conscious of his own possession of actual power 
to set much store upon the present feelings of 
Charles. Against emergencies of the future he 
hoped, by the alliance of his daughter, and other 
means, as we have seen, amply to safeguard him- 
self. At any rate, if he did notice anything 
ominous in the King’s manner at this moment, 
his countenance gave no intimation of the fact, 
and he went on to broach his errand. 


240 


anne of argisle* 


Our enemies,” he said, are borne backward 
by the breath of Providence.” 

“ And by the able tactics of General Leslie,” 
added Charles, dryly. 

“There are differences of opinion as to the 
masterliness of the general’s tactics,” returned 
Argyle. “ Some of the Parliament and the 
divines, having visited the camp, assert that the 
sectaries, but for the lack of faith of our com- 
mander, might have been destroyed utterly from 
the face of the land before now.” 

“Yet I do not doubt that Leslie knows his 
own business best,” answered the King, “ better 
at any rate than preachers, whose place, me- 
thinks, is more fitly the pulpit than the field of 
war. Your own military experience, my lord, 
must have shown you thus much.” 

Charles .spoke with a careless insouciance, but 
at the casual mention of his inglorious career 
in the field Argyle looked sharply up. His sus- 
picions of a sinister design in the words, how- 
ever, if he had any, received no confirmation 
from the sober expression which rested upon the 
features of the Prince ; and he was fain, there- 
fore, to take the remark in good part. 

“ In the condition of parties in the country at 
present,” he said, “ the opinion and influence of 
these preachers have nevertheless to be taken 


Bnne of 


241 


into account, and to come more directly to a prof- 
itable issue, it is to speak of a rumor brought to 
me from them, and likely to do heavy harm to 
our cause if believed, that I have sought the 
present interview.” 

“ If the matter concerns the ministers,” re- 
turned Charles, “ I fear I must leave it to you, 
my lord, to deal with it ; my word is likely to 
have but small weight among these gentlemen.” 

“Yet it is upon your Majesty’s word that the 
whole question arises; and with your Highness 
rests the sole power of turning aside the dif- 
ficulty which threatens a new dismemberment 
in our councils.” 

“ My lord marquis,” said Charles, with a ges- 
ture of impatience, “ I am weary of these mys- 
teries, of the continual doubts and questionings 
of Churchmen, whose reverend office, it were well 
they were told, has no whit to do with affairs of 
State.” 

“ Yet, if you will give me leave to say it,” 
answered Argyle, “ the whole difficulty is one 
that can be settled by a single word from your 
Majesty.” 

“ Let the word be said then,” exclaimed 
Charles, recklessly ; “ that is,” he added with 
more caution, and his face darkening as he spoke, 
“ if it imply no treason to the royal prerogatives 
16 


242 


Bnne of 


or dishonor to the royal house — a forbearance 
which it seems almost too much to expect in the 
requisitions of these reverend meddlers.” 

“To speak the truth, to which I pray God ever 
to confine me,” returned the wily statesman, “ no 
requisition from the Assembly to your Majesty 
has of late reached my hands. The matter is a 
more delicate one, which only my deep and sin- 
cere regard for the royal interest induces me to 
step so far beyond the reserve of private feeling 
as to open. An over-delicacy, however, in some 
situations, I am persuaded, may prove a serious 
fault, and I do not fear misunderstanding at the 
hands of so clear-minded a Prince as your 
Majesty. To come briefly and bluntly to the 
point, I must make you aware that while the in- 
timation of the royal intention to espouse a 
daughter of Argyle had striking and immediate 
effect in strengthening the hands of the Govern- 
ment, there have not been wanting within the 
last few days those who have given forth that 
the royal attentions to the Lady Anne were no 
more than a temporizing on your Majesty’s part, 
which might easily be put aside when the neces- 
sity for it should pass.” 

“ And perhaps,” returned Charles, “ my Lord 
of Argyle has himself been not indisposed to give 
credit to such a rumor.” 


%mc of 


243 


As he spoke the young King could not pre- 
vent a conscious flush rising to his cheek at the 
secret truth of the insinuation. This incident 
was by no means lost upon Argyle, though he 
might naturally enough draw different conclu- 
sions from it. It is possible that, believing as he 
did that the attractions of Anne had not been 
without considerable effect upon the Prince, he 
took the flush for no more than a sign of natural 
resentment. 

“ God forbid,” he returned, that I should in 
anything doubt the assurances of your Majesty ! 
On the contrary, it is entirely out of my hum- 
ble duty to the throne that I am come hither to 
acquaint you with the rumor. So little indeed 
am I inclined, as a father, and a servant of the 
Crown, to listen to these slanderous treasons, 
that I do not doubt your Majesty will take im- 
mediate steps to put them to absolute silence.” 

“ And the means which you would suggest ? ” 
asked the Prince, not without a certain quicken- 
ing apprehension. 

“ There is one means final and unquestion- 
able,” answered Argyle, looking steadily at the 
royal youth before him ; ^‘marriage cannot fail to 
settle at once and fully all such groundless sus- 
picions.” 

“ Marriage, my lord marquis ! ” exclaimed 


244 


Bnne of 


Charles ; and turning from the spot where he had 
hitherto stood during the interview, he took sev- 
eral paces across the apartment. 

Prepared as he had been for some such propo- 
sition on the part of Argyle, he was not wholly 
prepared for the peculiar emotions to which it 
gave rise in his own breast. To any young man 
the idea of so serious a step as marriage brought 
thus suddenly before him must prove sufficiently 
agitating, but in the Prince’s actual circum- 
stances at the moment, the suggestion was more 
than ordinarily disturbing. As an expedient to 
gain time and to effect the purpose of the hour, 
the agreement into which he had entered with 
the ambitious statesman served satisfactorily 
enough ; but, to begin with, the sole hope of 
Charles had been, as the marquis then certainly 
guessed, to temporize, and he had regarded it as 
no more than a ruse of the most immediate 
policy. The actual marriage of the King with 
the daughter of such a subject as Argyle was for 
State reasons by no means desirable. Charles, 
besides, was sufficiently aware of the disposition 
towards the Lady Anne of the feelings of Mont- 
rose. On the other hand, however, opposing 
these considerations, the Prince had had time and 
opportunity enough to make acquaintance with 
Anne herself — an acquaintance which could 


Bnne of 


245 


hardly occur without giving rise to some tender 
regard. The sudden proposition of MacCallum 
More perhaps surprised him into the discovery 
that he was not entirely indifferent to the maid. 
And, at the first blush, the idea of coming into 
such near relations with her, and that imme- 
diately, was strangely exciting. In the natural 
tremor of the instant the utmost he could think 
of was once more to temporize. 

Marriage ! ” he ejaculated. “Why — why, my 
lord, the transaction were somewhat precipitate. 
I have not yet discovered reason to hope that 
the Lady Anne ” 

“Anne,” interrupted Argyle, “will act as be- 
comes a dutiful daughter of her house. And,” 
he added hastily, seeing, perhaps, that Charles 
was about to take exception to such extension of 
the sphere of filial duty, “ her parents have had 
opportunity of perceiving what has been with 
proper maidenly reserve hidden from the eye 
even of a royal lover.” 

Here Charles turned away, but his interlocutor 
could perceive that his words had not been with- 
out effect. 

“ That reserve, however,” he went on firmly, 
“ though right enough in its own place, must 
yield to the political necessities of the time. To 
speak but the truth, in affection for the interests 


246 


Bnne of Brgsle, 


of one whom I am privileged by Heaven to look 
upon already almost as a son, it were well, to 
prevent further perils and defections threatening 
the State, that this wedding should take place as 
soon as may be.” 

The situation was urgent. In spite of the 
studied respect of his address, there was in the 
manner of Argyle a peremptory air of sufficient 
significance. As he felt this, the habitual cool- 
ness of Charles returned to him immediately. 
To thwart the marquis at the present moment 
would, in the existing position of affairs, be ruin- 
ous. It would also be foolish, considering that a 
better occasion of evading the difficulty might yet 
occur. Accordingly it was with an appearance 
of entire self-possession that the young King now . 
spoke. 

“ In that case, my lord,” he said, “ we may 
doubtless prefer the urgency of the time as an 
excuse for naming an approximate date.” 

As he made this tentative sounding to discover 
the exact extent of Argyle’s urgency Charles 
toyed with a jewel on his finger. 

MacCallum More followed up his advantage 
with the steadiness of a sleuth-hound. 

“ Looking to the state of the nation’s temper, 
and the responsible place it is permitted us to 
hold,” he said, I would name to-morrow : but 


Bnne ot %vq^Ic. 


247 


as that might seem to hasten your Majesty’s 
arrangements overmuch, I am inclined more 
doubtfully to urge that it be within a week. 
Let us say Tuesday to come, if the Lord be will- 
ing to spare us. That will be the second day of 
September.” 

Notwithstanding his calculated self-possession, 
on hearing the nearness of the proposed day 
Charles felt something like the cold dew of con- 
sternation appear upon his forehead. He could 
think of nothing better to urge, however, than 
the suddenness of the intimation to Lady Anne. 

“ But your daughter, my lord ! ” he exclaimed. 
“ Will not she be somewhat unfairly pressed by 
so near a date? ” 

Argyle made the nearest approach to a smile of 
which he was capable. 

*‘Your Majesty,” he said, ‘^will presently be 
better acquainted with the secret heart of the 
sex. Anne will follow the counsel of her parents, 
and I would have you believe that to the maiden 
this is no unwelcome pressure.” 

There was nothing left for Charles but to agree. 

“ In that case, my lord marquis,” he said, “ the 
matter is in your hands. At so short an interval, 
however, there can be no public preparations.” 

These can follow later,” returned Argyle, 
when the state of the kingdom permits of 


248 


Bnne of 


greater ceremonial. Meanwhile the announce- 
ment that the marriage has been privately per- 
formed will fully serve our purpose. Your 
Majesty, therefore, will hold yourself in prepara- 
tion for Tuesday next.” 

Charles bowed, whereupon Argyle, assuming a 
paternal air, laid his hand on the Prince's shoul- 
der, and was proceeding to invoke a pious and pa 
ternal blessing upon his future son-in-law, when 
the latter contrived to overturn an ivory orna- 
ment with which he had been trifling, which fell 
with a crash at the marquis’s feet. Upon this, 
MacCallum More, darting a single swift look at 
the author of the accident, made shift to cut 
short the sentence he had begun, and with a 
greeting which was no more than a hasty one, 
bowed himself from the apartment. 

For some time afterwards Charles paced dis- 
orderly up and down the chamber, before he 
finally threw himself into a chair to gaze ruefully 
into the sinking embers of the fire. 


Bnne ot 


249 


CHAPTER XIX. 

" Then rose the slogan with a shout, 

‘ Fye, to it, Tynedale ! ’ — ‘ Jedburgh’s here ! ’ ” 

“ The Raid of the ReidswireT 

It is now necessary to return to General Leslie 
and the fortunes of the Presbyterian army under 
his command, holding the approaches to the city 
of Edinburgh against the forces of the English 
Independents. 

The information brought to the Scottish gen- 
eral on the morning of Charles’s visit to the camp 
had in every respect proved well founded. 
Cromwell, finding his direct path to the metrop- 
olis along the coast barred by the masterly tac- 
tics of his opponent, had determined upon a 
change of front. Breaking up camp, therefore, 
he marched south, intending to attack the city 
upon another side before Leslie should have time 
to take up a defensive position. The Presbyter- 
ian preachers had, as we have seen, done what 
they could, by fomenting sectarian prejudices, 
and by purging ” out of the camp many of his 


250 


2lnne ot 


ablest captains, to embarrass the movements of 
their general. It was, therefore, with the greatest 
difficulty, and only by the most active personal 
exertions, that Leslie succeeded in forming a new 
line of defence in time to meet the threatened 
attack. This, however, he finally accomplished 
so skilfully that the English general once more 
found himself checkmated. Hopeless of success 
in the new direction, and fearful of finding him- 
self, as was already to some extent the case, cut 
off from his basis of supplies in the fleet, Crom- 
well presently marched back to the coast, where, 
with but ill success, he engaged in a series of des- 
ultory attacks upon the Scottish outposts. For 
nearly a month he lay there, endeavoring ineffect- 
ually to bring Leslie to an action. 

But the latter was too able a general to allow 
himself to be thus entrapped. By skilful dispo- 
sition of his defences he trusted, and indeed 
proved, himself able to maintain his ground and 
finally to accomplish his purpose ; but he was 
well aware that, if once drawn into the open field, 
his hastily-raised levies would stand but a poor 
chance against the veteran disciplined troops of 
Cromwell. Accordingly, in spite of the repeated 
urgings of the Covenanting ministers, who grew 
every day bolder with the delay of the English 
attack, he kept his forces carefully in hand within 


Bnne of Hrg^le. 


251 


the lines. It was in vain that morning after 
morning enthusiasts like the Reverend Mr. 
Nevoy came down from their quarters in the 
city, and added to the difficulties of the general 
with loud-voiced exhortations, in the words of the 
prophets of Israel, to “ go forth in the strength 
of the Lord to battle, for the forces of the 
Amalekites were delivered up to be consumed be- 
fore His wrath.” With singular magnanimity 
these gentlemen appropriated, as the results of 
their righteous prayers and exhortations, the 
credit of every successful brush with the enemy, 
while they did not fail to discredit the general 
with his men, as far as possible, by attributing 
every petty reverse to his lack of faith. 

Notwithstanding the labors of these self-con- 
stituted critics and orators, Leslie steadily, though 
with increasing difficulty, restrained his troops 
and kept his ground ; and at last, despairing of 
success, and fearful of provisions running short, 
the English general began a retreat. This was as 
Leslie had calculated, and he now prepared to 
carry out his plans by following the march of the 
enemy, carefully avoiding any engagement in 
which he might be taken at a disadvantage, and 
waiting until circumstances or a false step on his 
opponent’s part, should give him the opportunity 
of striking a decisive blow. 


252 


Hnne ot 


But, if the preachers had been insistent before, 
they became ten times more so now. Encouraged 
by the favorable turn of affairs, they flocked from 
the town to the army, where they failed in no 
point fully to discuss the various orders given to 
the troops. The success already attained they 
ascribed, consistently with their previous habit, 
not to the tactics of the general, but to their own 
prevailing prayers and the special dispensation 
of Heaven. Presuming upon this, they did not 
cease to urge more active measures of attack, and 
Leslie’s refusal to join battle at once they stigma- 
tized as the reluctance of Ahab to execute God’s 
behests upon the head of Ben-hadad — an applica- 
tion of the instances of Scripture which they 
backed up with assurance of the wrath of Heaven 
upon “ the cause ” if so fair an opportunity were 
missed. 

Matters were in this position — the army dis- 
tracted between the positive commands and 
discipline of General Leslie, and the inspired 
exhortations of the preachers — when, on the after- 
noon of the 1st of September, Cromwell was 
observed to be at last reduced to a difficult strait. 

Slowly, accompanied by his fleet, the Independ- 
ent general had made his way along the coast, 
and had passed the town of Dunbar. Here he 
found himself with his army on a small plain out 


Bnne of Brgisle* 


253 


of which his only route to the south lay through 
a narrow pass between the sea and an outlying 
spur of the Lammermuir Hills, which spur, com- 
pletely commanding the pass, he perceived to be 
already occupied by the forces of his opponent. 
The situation was not only embarrassing in the 
extreme, but one out of which no escape seemed 
possible without most serious loss. Perhaps no 
more obvious case of checkmate in the field has 
been instanced. The storming of the heights in 
front, occupied as they were, seemed out of the 
question ; to attempt a passage through the defile 
below was to court destruction piecemeal ; while 
if he left the coast and marched inland his army 
must be starved. A final resource, and one upon 
which Cromwell is said to have determined, was 
to embark the infantry on board the fleet, while 
he himself with the cavalry endeavored to cut 
their way through the Scottish host and escape 
as best they could ; but even this operation had 
the perilous condition of being performed in face 
of an enemy who might at any moment take 
advantage of the weakness and disorder occasioned 
by the embarkation, and, rushing down from the 
heights, put the troops remaining on shore to utter 
rout. 

This was the situation towards which the tactics 
of Leslie had been bent for the last two months ; 


254 


Bnne of 


in a few hours at furthest he counted on being 
able to strike a blow which should at once free 
Scotland from the attempted dictation of the 
English sectaries of the south, and establish, both 
north and south of the Border, the unquestioned 
authority of Presbyterian government. The 1st 
of September had been a day of much fatigue to 
him, commanding, cajoling, and threatening in 
turn the members of a staff vain enough to prefer 
argument to obedience. But at last, having seen 
to it personally that his orders as to taking up 
position had been carried out, as he rode along 
the edge of the eminence, in full armor but with 
his visor up, and looked down upon the enemy, 
there was visible upon his swarthy features a glow 
as of one who had earned his reward. Night was 
already closing in gray over the sea, while, on the 
plain below, the watch-fires of the enemy began 
to appear. Before another night should darken 
down, or the hostile camp-fires again flame out, 
he hoped to see his object accomplished, and the 
cause of Charles II. and the Scottish Parliament 
assured. 

At this moment he was approached by a second 
horseman, who, although his face had not been 
visible, might at once have been recognized by 
his grave and deliberate speech as Lord Lome. 

“There will now, I presume. General Leslie,” 


Bnne of UtQ^lc* 


255 


he said, be no longer any weighty reason for 
delaying attack, since another day may remove 
the object of it beyond our reach.” 

Leslie turned sharply with a lifting of the 
brows which betokened some annoyance, but it 
was, nevertheless, with a perfectly even voice that 
he answered — 

“ I thank you as before, my Lord of Lome, for 
your counsel, but I profess ignorance of any 
sudden occurrence which can have led to its 
renewal.” 

“ The intelligence brought providentially by 
the escaped missioner Crookshanks should, I 
would have thought, have left no doubt of the 
evening’s possibilities and the consequent urgency 
of the situation.” 

A fugitive bringing intelligence ! ” exclaimed 
Leslie, biting his lip with ill-concealed exaspera- 
tion ; “ I must inquire of your lordship why he 
has not been brought at once to headquarters? ” 

“ Being a humble servant of the Covenant,’ 
returned Lome, “ he deemed it his duty, doubt- 
less, to report his intelligence first to the Com- 
mittee of the Kirk accompanying our troops.” 

^‘And by them it has since, doubtless, been 
sufficiently and publicly discussed,” answered 
Leslie. “ However, I must instantly see the 
man.” 


Bnne ot 


256 

An orderly was accordingly despatched at once 
for Crookshanks, and after but a short interval, 
occupied by Lome in communicating what he 
had ascertained of the news, the luckless mis- 
sioner was brought before the general. 

The reason for Mr. Aaron Crookshanks’ sudden 
appearance in a scene so little likely to be favored 
with his voluntary presence may here be detailed 
in a few words. His last ingenious proceeding 
chronicled in these pages, it may be remembered, 
was an attempt to elicit the tender regards of that 
entertainer of the elect, the worthy Mrs. Murdoch 
of the Netherbow. Upon that occasion his laud- 
able effort to secure an independence and a spouse 
was rudely interrupted by Guthrie’s announcement 
that the city was on the point of being attacked, 
and at the intelligence he unaccountably disap- 
peared. An hour or two later, however, since the 
truth can no longer be hid, he was discovered by 
the astonished widow asleep in no less sacred a 
place than within the drawn curtains of her own 
four-posted bed. The fact, of course, was that he 
had fled there for hiding at the moment in a sud- 
den access of terror, and had subsequently fallen 
asleep from the effects of his previous too gener- 
ous entertainment. But no reason or excuse 
which he could offer was listened to by the 
virtuous and indignant Mrs. Murdoch, and with 


Hnne of 


^57 


the injunction, stated in sufficiently forcible lan- 
guage, that he should never again darken her 
doors, he was summarily ejected from her dwell' 
ing. Upon the following morning, hearing of the 
repulse of the enemy’s night attack, and in mortal 
fear, notwithstanding his valiant offers of defence 
to the widow, of personal hurt which he might 
suffer if the city happened to fall into the hands 
of the English soldiery, he made up his mind to 
escape from Edinburgh while there was yet time 
Unfortunately, however, in fulfilling this inten- 
tion, he took a road which led him directly into 
the lines of Cromwell’s new approach from the 
south, whereupon he was promptly secured by the 
enemy as a person whose information might be 
turned to account. The knowledge which he 
was able to impart of the character and views of 
leading personages of the Presbyterian party had 
proved useful to the English general in directing 
the efforts of his insidious diplomacy, and the 
missioner had accordingly been detained until the 
army passed Dunbar. Here he had heard enough 
of their counsels to understand that the greater 
part of the English forces were about to be em- 
barked on board the fleet, when the opportunity 
suddenly occurred to him to make his escape. 

The appearance of Mr. Crookshanks as he was 
now brought before the Scottish general differed 

17 


Bnne of 


258 

little from that in which he first presented him- 
self in our story as he suffered ejection from Kil- 
learn inn. A month’s unexpected campaigning, 
though his bodily wants otherwise had doubtless 
been sufficiently supplied, had reduced his outer 
man to much the same condition as the sum- 
mary treatment of his former host. His black 
coat had become somewhat threadbare, and his 
woollen stockings were more than a trifle frayed, 
while his hair and beard appeared to be in sad 
need of a barber. 

All these details, as well as the probable char- 
acter of the fugitive before him, Leslie took in 
at a glance. It was his business to appraise 
men instantly at what they were worth, and 
in the present case the task was not a difficult 
one. 

Ha ! ” he ejaculated, you are a fugitive, you 
say, escaped from the enemy’s camp ? ” 

'‘Even so,” returned Crookshanks, “a Lot 

escaped from the city of Gomorrah, a Joseph 

“ Suspected of having been hired to spread dis- 
affection among the Scottish troops, to decoy our 
movements with false intelligence, and therefore 
to be punished as a spy with death.” 

At this prospect, equally unpleasant and un- 
looked for, held forth at a moment when he had 
been considering himself a person of no small 


Bnne of Uvq^Ic* 


259 


merit and importance, Crookshanks collapsed into 
a pitiable spectacle. His face became pinched, 
his jaw dropped, and his knees shook, while his 
tongue refused to utter a syllable. 

“Are you a minister of the Kirk?” queried 
Leslie, with a frown. 

“ Nay,” the unfortunate Crookshanks found 
breath to say, “ not an ordained minister indeed, 
but an humble ” 

“ So ! ” returned Leslie, sternly, and turning to 
his guard he added : “ In that case to the provost- 
marshal with him.” 

But on seeing his fate approach thus imminently, 
Crookshanks’ organs of speech became suddenly 
loosed, and falling on his knees where he stood, 
he began to pour forth a piteous stream of as- 
surance and entreaty. Accustomed, however, to 
such scenes, Leslie was about to turn away with 
a wave of the hand, when he was accosted by a 
spectator of the scene who had hitherto remained 
silent. This was no other than the young Marquis 
of Montrose, who, notwithstanding the ban which 
had been pronounced against the presence of 
Malignants with the army, had obtained permis- 
sion to attend the progress of the Scottish troops 
during the last few days. Standing with others 
close by, he had heard and witnessed the colloquy 
we have just recorded. He now advanced, and in 


26 o 


Bnne of Brg^le* 


an undertone ventured to say a word for the 
hapless missioner. 

“ I have some personal knowledge of this man," 
he said, “ and I think I can undertake for his 
honesty, if you will give me leave." 

Leslie turned to his new interlocutor with an 
air of some impatience. 

“ My lord," he said, also in an undertone which 
could only reach the ear for which it was intended, 
‘‘ I understand and appreciate your humanity ; 
but pardon me if I say you scarcely comprehend 
the situation. The man may be honest, but he 
has already done us damage enough, risked the 
lives of us all, by scattering broadcast among our 
firebrand orators the news of Cromwell’s intention 
to embark. Nothing short of his death can repair 
that damage, and prevent a general and ruinous 
movement of our troops, by convincing them 
of my entire disbelief in the truth of his intel- 
ligence." 

“ It is a high price to pay for a mistake," urged 
Montrose, “ and besides, if I can believe my eyes, 
the purpose which might be served by the deed 
is already past." 

As he spoke, the young nobleman pointed 
westward along the ridge of the hill. 

There it appeared at once evident that the 
general’s worst apprehensions had been realized. 


%mc of Br^ste* 


i6i 

and this much more quickly than he could have 
thought possible. For days the warlike enthu- 
siasm of the Scottish forces, under the exhortations 
of their preachers, had been at combustion point ; 
the news of Cromwell’s intention to embark his 
troops, communicated by Crookshanks, and carried 
from rank to rank with astonishing speed by the 
preachers, had added the last spark ; and now the 
discipline of months proved powerless to restrain 
the popular impulse. With the cry that the forces 
of the Amorites were about to escape them, the 
Scottish regiments simultaneously started from 
their vantage-ground, and began hastily to march 
downhill. 

This was the movement which met Leslie’s eye 
as, following the indication of Montrose, he cast 
a glance along the hillside. That single glance 
was enough. With a fiercely muttered exclama- 
tion, through his clenched teeth, he struck his 
spurs into the flanks of his steed, and dashed 
instantly off in the desperate but vain effort to 
prevent the fatal blunder which was being com- 
mitted. 

The rest of that night’s work need not be 
recapitulated here. Following the Old Testa- 
ment examples set before them by their preachers, 
and obeying, as they believed, the Divine behests, 
the opinionated and ill-disciplined Presbyterian 


262 


Bnne of Brgigle* 


levies marched down into the plain. When Crom- 
well, just then on the point of confessing himself 
out-generalled, and relinquishing the campaign, 
observed this movement, he is said to have 
exclaimed, “ The Lord hath delivered them into 
our hands ! ” and he immediately and joyfully 
prepared for battle. The troops of the Scottish 
Parliament nevertheless, overmatched as they 
might be, still fought desperately enough when it 
came to actual encounter, and made a stubborn 
stand during the hours of the wild night, strug- 
gling indeed so obstinately against the better- 
trained forces of their opponent, that at onetime 
victory seemed almost in their hands. But at 
that moment the sun threw his first beams on the 
battlefield as he rose gloriously out of the sea, 
and Cromwell, calling out to those about him 
that the Lord had given them a sign of victory, 
headed a new attack in person, which finally 
turned the fortune of the day. 

It was at this moment, when one regiment of 
the Presbyterian troops had already broken and 
fled before their charge, that a detachment of 
Cromwell’s cavalry came suddenly upon a com- 
pact and apparently resolute company of the 
Scottish force headed by a person in clerical garb 
who, a Bible in one hand and a pistol, which he 
had snatched from the ground, in the other, was 


Bnnc of 263 

with violent gestures exhorting his companions 
to renew the attack. 

“ Throw down thine arms, Sir Presbyter ! ” 
shouted a sergeant of the roundhead cavalry, as 
he galloped up, “ in the name of Cromwell.” 

In the name of God ! ” sternly returned the 
other, who by voice and face might have been 
recognized as Argyle’s own chaplain, Mr. John 
Nevoy ; and taking deliberate aim, he discharged 
his weapon. 

There was a shout, and as the sergeant fell 
backwards out of his saddle, Nevoy ’s head was 
cloven in two by the sabre of the succeeding 
trooper. 

Meanwhile, in another part of the field, forget- 
ting everything but that his country’s independ- 
ence was at stake, Montrose had given a gallant 
account of himself. In more than one encounter 
his sword had done knightly service, and his 
shout of “ A Graham ! A Graham ! ” had made a 
frequent rallying point when the fortune of the 
day began to turn. 

It was only when the tide of battle seemed to 
ebb for a space from the part of the field where 
he had fought, that, looking from a slight emi- 
nence and perceiving the day to be irretrievably 
lost to the Presbyterians, the thought of the more 
personal issues which hung upon the encounter 


%mc of 


264 

returned in full force. With the defeat of the 
Presbyterian army, he remembered, the power of 
the Marquis of Argyle must be considered to be 
broken, and the possible effect of that event upon 
the proposed marriage of the Lady Anne with 
King Charles set the blood on fire in every vein 
of the young Cavalier. He had been informed 
that, with a view to adverse possibilities, the date 
of the royal marriage had been hastened by the 
father of the bride, but he was not aware that it 
had been actually settled to take place privately 
on the very afternoon of the day which had just 
dawned. Had he known this he might have put 
forth more desperate efforts to arrive at the ear 
of Charles in time with his news. As it was, 
turning his horse’s head from a scene which was 
now little more than one of flight and carnage, he 
proceeded to make the best pace possible west- 
wards towards Queensferry and Perth. 


Bnnc of Brosle. 


265 


CHAPTER XX, 

“ O where will I get a bonnie boy 
To help me in my need ? ” 

“ Lady MaisryJ* 

On the morning of the second of September 
Charles found himself in a position of extreme 
perplexity. When compelled by force of circum- 
stances to agree to Argyle’s proposition that his 
marriage should take place upon this date, the 
Prince as before had trusted largely to the chap- 
ter of accidents for a valid excuse to postpone 
the time. But day after day had passed by with- 
out the slightest occurrence which could be made 
to do duty as a plea for delay. The tactics of 
Leslie in the field had continued uniformly suc- 
cessful, and in consequence the prestige and 
power of the Presbyterian marquis were more 
assured and absolute than ever. 

This was the situation of affairs when the 
actual day appointed for the marriage at last ar- 
rived, and Charles, hopeful and trustful of his 
own powers of resource at a pinch, as he was apt 


266 


Bnne of 


to be, may be forgiven if he realized the fact with 
very definite dismay. 

Within the week, as other circumstances 
seemed to fail him, he had even meditated flight 
itself as a last resort. Three months later, chafing 
under a similar constraint upon the eve of his 
coronation, he actually did take horse for the 
north.* Meanwhile, however, the preparations 
for a sufficient rising of the royalist clans to 
receive and support him had been delayed by 
several unforeseen occurrences, and this morning 
as he looked from the window of the royal apart- 
ment he perceived that any such attempt at 
flight as he had meditated had been effectually 
provided against, the guard of honor for the day, 
mounted in the courtyard below, having been 
supplied from Argyle’s own following of clansmen. 

It was half-past nine of the morning as the 


* “ The melancholy solemnity had been nearly prevented by 
the absence of the principal personage. Charles, disgusted with 
the invectives of the Presbyterian clergy, and perhaps remember- 
ing the fate of his father at Newcastle, formed a hasty purpose 
of flying from the Presbyterian camp. He had not been suffi- 
ciently aware of the weakness of the Royalists who recommended 
this wild step, and he actually went away to the hills. But he 
found only a few Highlanders at Clova, without the appearance 
of an army, which he had promised himself, and was easily in- 
duced to return to the camp with a party who had been dispatched 
in pursuit of him .” — Tales of a Grandfather^ chap. xlvi. 


Bnnc of 


267 


King, drawing the curtain and looking from the 
casement, became aware of this circumstance. 
Some thirty minutes later he was still seated at 
breakfast, over which a lengthy piece of rhetoric, 
by way of blessing, had just been pronounced 
by the attendant Presbyterian chaplain, Mr. John 
Livingstone, when MacCallum More himself was 
ushered in. 

“We have early the advantage of your presence 
this morning, my lord,” said Charles, somewhat 
sardonically, as he acknowledged the measured 
bow of his visitor. 

“ Upon the threshold of so auspicious an oc- 
casion,” returned Argyle, cautious to conceal 
under an appearance of increased humility the 
actual triumph of the moment, “ the anxiety of 
a father may be permitted, regarding the con- 
dition of his royal son that is about to be. I 
have,” he continued, casting a glance in the direc- 
tion of the Rev. Mr. Livingstone, “ been instant 
in prayer in the night watches for the royal 
security and happiness in the sacred contract to 
be undertaken this day.” 

“ I perceive, nevertheless, my lord,” retorted 
Charles, dryly, as he dipped a fragment of toast 
in the cup of claret at his hand, “ that your 
thoughtful solicitude has not confined itself 
entirely to the instancy of prayer. The royal 


268 


Bnne of 


security appears further to have been provided 
for by mounting over these apartments a guard 
of members of Clan Campbell itself.” 

Your Majesty,” answered Argyle, imperturb- 
ably, has already perceived what I was about 
to hasten to point out. On the eve of the 
King’s marriage with a daughter of their chief, 
the guard of the royal apartments is fittingly 
kept by gentlemen of the clan of which Heaven 
has permitted me to be the unworthy head.” 

“ As it is the daughter of Argyle, however,” 
returned the Prince, sharply, “who is about, it 
would appear, to become a member of the House 
of Stuart, and not the representative of the royal 
House who is about to become an appanage of 
the family of Argyle, the guard of the royal 
apartments might as fittingly, methinks, have 
been left in the hands of the more usual 
troops.” 

The marquis was about to reply with an air in 
which professed humility and forbearance but 
thinly covered the obvious consciousness that he 
was master of the situation ; and the discussion 
might presently have assumed very pretty pro- 
portions ; but at that moment there was heard, 
on the causeway of the street without, the ring 
of a horse’s hoofs at the gallop, which pace was 
broken to a trot as the steed apparently entered 


Bnne of 


269 

the royal courtyard, when the sound of voices in 
loud altercation betokened that the rider found 
some obstacle in his way. 

The state of affairs in the field at the time 
was so critical, and it was so well apprehended 
that at any instant a messenger might arrive 
with news of vital importance, that the point 
under discussion between Argyle and Charles 
was for the moment dropped as by mutual con- 
sent, and neither of the two made scruple of 
hastening to the casement to ascertain what they 
could of the new arrival. Curiously enough the 
scene being enacted on the causeway furnished 
to the eyes of the Prince a significant if unwit- 
ting comment on the passage of arms which 
had just taken place between himself and 
Argyle. 

In the horseman who, jaded and travel-stained, 
had now thrown himself from his steed and was 
endeavoring to gain access to the royal lodging, 
the reader might have recognized no less master- 
ful a personage than Neil Guthrie, the redoubt- 
able factor and factotum of Montrose. The 
urgency of his errand, whatever it was, was ap- 
parently receiving but small consideration from 
the gentlemen of Clan Campbell who had 
mounted guard on the entrance steps. These 
individuals, at the moment when Charles looked 


270 


Bnne of Brg^le. 


down upon the scene, were, with drawn swords 
and pistol in hand, firmly refusing admittance to 
the new-comer. 

“ I tell ye,” the latter was exclaiming with 
gathering wrath, “ it is for the ear o’ the King 
only that my message runs, and never a Camp- 
bell o’ the clan, not MacCallum More himself, 
shall have the chance of playing hoodie wi’ the 
errand o’ my lord Marquis o’ Montrose.” 

“And I will be telling to you, my young man,” 
retorted one of the persons addressed, shaking his 
sword the while in Guthrie’s face, “ I will be tell- 
ing to you that Clan Campbell is master here, 
and that you will speak at your peril to the dis- 
paragement of the Marquis of Argyle ; and if so 
be that you have a message from the son of 
James Graham, you will just wait till my lord 
marquis says if the King is to be allowed to 
hear it.” 

“A brave speech!” retorted Guthrie, con- 
temptuously, “ but ye maun understand that the 
message o’ my lord the Marquis o’ Montrose 
stops for no creature o’ Gillespie Grumach.* So 
stand back, I say, and let me pass, if ye wouldna 
seek a kiss o’ the cold steel.” 

With these words the doughty messenger laid 

* Gillespie the Grim, a nickname applied to Argyle on account 
of his peculiarity of visage. 


Bnne of 


271 


his hand on his own sword, and as the guards still 
seemed determined to dispute his passage, blood- 
shed appeared imminent ; but at that instant the 
King threw open the casement. 

Put up those swords,” he exclaimed hastily. 
You, gentlemen of the guard, must be informed 
that you exceed your duty in refusing to give 
notice of a messenger’s arrival.” 

Here Charles stopped, for the persons ad- 
dressed, evidently hesitating to obey, seemed to 
look first for confirmation of the order to Argyle 
himself, whom they saw in the window beside the 
King. The hesitation was no more than mo- 
mentary, but it spoke volumes to the Prince. 

“ My lord marquis,” he exclaimed, turning to 
the nobleman with indignant warmth, “ it would 
appear as if the obedience of these men to my 
authority were conditional upon your lordship’s 
acquiescence.” 

It is the habit of the clansmen,” returned 
Argyle, gravely, “ to obey no other, not even 
the King himself in the presence of their 
chief.” 

In that case,” retorted Charles, more hotly, 
these men can be no fit sentinels for the royal 
lodging. Meanwhile, my lord, perhaps you will 
give order for the messenger to be introduced.” 
This was an issue, however, which Argyle 


272 


Bnne of 


would fain have prevented had that been pos- 
sible. News of vital importance from the army 
might be in the possession of Montrose’s messen- 
ger, and it was for obvious reasons no part of the 
policy of MacCallum More to let Charles acquire 
information which had not previously passed 
under his own scrutiny. 

“ It will be seemly,” he said, ** that I first as- 
certain whether the message is weighty enough 
to warrant the bearer’s personal admission to the 
presence.” 

“ Of that trouble, my lord, we will relieve you,” 
returned Charles, with some severity, especially 
since in this instance I believe the messenger 
stated his errand to be for our private ear.” 

As there seemed to be no help for it, Argyle 
was forced to acquiesce, though evidently with 
but a bad grace ; and presently Guthrie was 
shown into the royal apartment. At this point 
the marquis was again destined to chagrin, for 
the King, rejecting the movement which his 
courtier made as if to join in the audience, drew 
Montrose’s messenger aside to an alcove from 
which, with the utmost attention, Argyle was 
unable to catch a syllable of what passed. 

“You come from my lord of Montrose,” said 
the Prince, when fairly out of earshot. “ When 
and where did you leave our army ? Speak low. 


Bnne of 


273' 


my good fellow, and give me your message briefly 
and to the point.” 

** I left the Scots host yesterday at nightfall,” 
replied Guthrie with soldierly promptitude, tak- 
ing care, as advised, to keep his voice in an 
undertone, ‘^and I must crave your Majesty’s 
indulgence that I am not here sooner ; but there 
were creatures of my lord of Argyle’s at the 
Queensferry that wad fain have stopped me, and 
as there were three o’ them it took a stiff style of 
persuasion to bid them let me pass.” 

Charles smiled significantly. “ I think I under- 
stand,” he said. And where was the host when 
you left it last night ? ” 

When the sun set,” answered Guthrie, some- 
what sententiousiy, it was posted on a spur of 
the hills barring the English march southward 
along the coast — as strong a camping-ground as 
your Majesty could have wished ; but when I left 
them the raw levies were, it was to be feared, full 
on the road to ruin — ‘ descending to meet the 
Philistines in Gilgal ’ I heard one o’ their preach- 
ers call it. It was then that my lord of Montrose 
bade me take horse and carry to your Majesty 
news of what was befalling. He bade me bear 
his loyal service to your Majesty, and say that a 
battle was certain within the hour, but that the 

issue, as the host had broken from the control of 
18 


274 


Hnne of Brsigte. 


its officers, was more than likely to be disastrous. 
He himself, he bade me say further, would, if he 
lived, bring your Majesty the earliest tidings upon 
the fate of the field. Meanwhile, in token of his 
trust to be of service to your Majesty, he sends 
your Majesty this ring.” 

As Charles took the signet which Guthrie held 
out to him his features paled slightly and his 
hand perceptibly shook. It was the ring which 
in his last straits in the north the Great Montrose 
had confided to Guthrie as a warrant to raise the 
Royalist Grahams of the Lennox ; and in the 
carved emerald with its raised gold setting the 
Prince recognized a jewel which had been his own 
parting gift and pledge of good faith to the 
famous general as he set forth on his last ill-fated 
expedition. Arriving at the present crisis of 
affairs, it struck Charles with a strong significance. 
By whatever force of circumstances he had been 
compelled to keep but a doubtful faith with the 
father, the ring he felt would convey a ten times 
multiplied reproach if he now betrayed the interest 
of the son. To delay the marriage ceremony, 
therefore, if only for a few hours, must be his im- 
mediate object. In that time, it was apparent, 
news might arrive which, declaring the defeat of 
the Presbyterian army, and the consequent loss 
of power of the Presbyterian marquis, should 


Bnne of Brsigte* 


275 


enable him finally to break off the undesired 
match. How to accomplish this delay was the 
most pressing difficulty of the moment. 

Meanwhile, drawing a jewel from his own finger, 
he pressed it upon Guthrie as a reward for the 
perils of his journey, and, bidding him keep his 
own counsel regarding the news he had brought, 
he dismissed him with the injunction to remain 
within call of the royal lodging. 


276 


Bnnc ot :ac0i2le. 


CHAPTER XXL 

“ It’s ye maun busk this bonnie bride. 

And put a gay mantle on ; 

For she shall wed this auld French lord, 

Gin she should dee the morn.” 

'"'•Fair JanetF 

As Guthrie took his departure from the royal 
apartment he passed close by Argyle, and a less 
keen observer than the King might have noticed 
the narrowness with which MacCallum More 
scrutinized Montrose’s messenger. It was as if 
he would have read Guthrie’s tidings in his face. 
Far from blenching in that ominous presence, 
however, the bold man-at-arms returned look for 
look, and Charles saw with some amusement that 
the wily statesman for once had met his match in 
conscious imperturbability. 

The door was little more than closed, neverthe- 
less, when Argyle proceeded to make inquiries at 
the King himself. 

“ The news from the field of war,” he said, ap- 
proaching the latter, “ is doubtless of some sig- 
nificance ? ” 


2lnne ot 


277 

“ It is indeed of moment,” returned Charles, 
with an air of ingenuousness calculated to dis- 
arm any suspicions which his interlocutor might 
entertain. “ I have just been informed that the 
event for which you lately expressed a desire is 
on the eve of taking place.” 

Your Majesty is pleased to task my memory,” 
answered Argyle, with some difficulty attempting 
to conceal his anxiety. I do not remember — I 
must beg ” 

*‘You have forgotten, my lord,” said Charles, 
with the utmost appearance of candor, though 
secretly perhaps not unwilling to prolong the 
suspense of the marquis, “that a few days ago 
you expressed disapproval of the war’s delay, and 
were good enough to criticise the slowness of 
General Leslie’s operations. By this time our 
army will have redeemed that reproach.” 

“Your Majesty has news of a decisive engage- 
ment?” asked Argyle, speaking, in spite of his 
caution, more quickly than usual. 

“ When the messenger left the field our troops 
were advancing to the attack, led, as I under- 
stand, by their preachers.” 

“ Their preachers ! ” exclaimed Argyle, with 
dismay in his voice. 

“ Inspired in matters of war, I have no doubt,” 
added Charles, quietly, “ as Elijah was of old.” 


278 


Bnne of 


“ You speak of what you know not,” said 
Argyle with whitening lips, the true attitude of 
his mind towards the King beginning to appear in 
this unguarded moment. “ The fanatics ! ” he 
went on, turning angrily to pace the apartment. 
“ As if the skill of one good officer were not 
worth all the ” 

Here the sight of the Rev. Mr. Livingstone, 
still attending within earshot, recalled the neces- 
sity for prudence. MacCallum More paused, and 
seizing his chin with his right hand in an attitude 
of exasperation, wheeled again to the window 
where Charles was standing. 

“ The matter is likely, at any rate,” said the 
latter, “to be decided by this time.” 

“ By this time,” echoed Argyle, the natural 
timidity of his disposition leading him to foresee 
the worst event, and his cheek growing sickly 
pale at the thought of possible consequences — 
“ by this time the &rmy of our defence may be 
scattered as chaff before the tempest.” 

In another moment, muttering to himself, as 
he hastily pondered the situation, he added — 

“ There is one thing, however, to be done. It 
must not be in their power to say that the 
war was made by us without royal warrant. The 
royal approval must be testified unmistakably — 
by the seal of the King’s marriage.” Then turn- 


Bnne of Uvq^Ic* 


279 


ing to Charles, he said with decision, Three of 
the clock this afternoon was the hour appointed 
for the celebration of the royal wedding ; your 
Majesty, however, must now see it to be ex- 
pedient that the event should take place at an 
earlier moment ? ” 

“ Nay, my lord marquis,” said the King, some- 
what taken aback by this unexpected issue of the 
morning’s intelligence, “ rather, methinks, should 
the ceremony be delayed. It were but an indif- 
ferent kindness to bestow upon the Lady Anne a 
crown that may be without a kingdom.” 

“ It is in such a circumstance,” answered Argyle, 
“ that my daughter’s trust must show itself. 
Moreover, I would have your Majesty remember 
that, whatever the issue of this day in the field, 
Royalist and Presbyterian must still, were their 
hands once joined, be able to make a successful 
stand against the sectaries of England. In this 
respect, your Highness must see, the royal house 
gains no small advantage by an instant alliance 
with the House of Campbell.” 

“ Particularly,” answered Charles, “ when that 
House of Campbell has at its head so brave and 
so successful a general as my lord Marquis of 
Argyle himself.” 

At this taunting speech, launched by Charles, 
as a last resource, in the hope of making a prac- 


28 o 


Bnne of Brggle, 


tical breach with MacCallum More, Argyle be- 
came all but livid with suppressed wrath. He 
retained control of himself, however, though one 
dangerous and ominous glance flashed like a flint 
spark from his cross-eyes ; and saying only, with 
stern deliberation, Your Majesty will be pleased 
to hold yourself in readiness for two of the clock,” 
he withdrew from the apartment. 

Left alone presently, the King, with an air of 
graver seriousness than usually characterized him, 
walked slowly for a little to and fro in the cham- 
ber. Then turning to the window as he passed 
it, he once again thoughtfully looked out. The 
gentlemen of Clan Campbell were still mounting 
guard below, and others, to all appearance equally 
staunch henchmen of MacCallum More, were in 
evidence in the immediate neighborhood. 

“ It is to small purpose ! ” he exclaimed at last, 
throwing himself with abandon upon the window- 
seat. “ The old fox has too often had occasion 
to fly by a side door himself to leave his quarry’s 
earth unstopped at this time of day.” 

“Well,” he added, after a somewhat gloomy 
pause, “ if it must be, it must, and ” — here he 
absently drummed a tattoo with his finger-tips 
upon the beading of the wainscot — “ were it not 
that faith should be kept with Montrose, the 
match of this afternoon might be no such irk- 


Hnne of 


281 


some matter after all. The fair Presbyterian, 
from what I have seen of her, were like to make 
a comely and sweet consort enough. But Mont- 
rose ” Here Charles’s eye fell upon the em- 

erald shining on his finger, and his face darkened 
with remorse and resolution. ‘‘The Graham,” 
he said, “ has suffered too much already in the 
royal cause.” Then he added more slowly, with 
a frown almost of ferocity on his youthful face, 
“ My lord Marquis of Argyle, there is a long ac- 
count to settle at your hands, and if ever the hour 

shall arrive ” He broke off abruptly. “ There 

is yet, however,” he exclaimed, more energetically, 
“ one other card to play before this game is de- 
cided.” And rising from his seat he touched a 
silver handbell on a table near. 

“ Inform his Grace of Buckingham,” he said, 
when an attendant entered, “ that the time of our 
engagement for this afternoon is hastened by one 
hour.” 

Meanwhile Argyle, with a strangely mixed air 
of apprehension and resolution, had betaken him- 
self from the presence. As he left the royal lodg- 
ing he took occasion to whisper a few words in 
Gaelic to the two sentinels at the door, and these 
individuals at once assumed an increased aspect 
of vigilance. Casting then a look of some trepi- 
dation in the direction from which news might be 


282 


2lnne of 


expected to arrive from the south, he proceeded, 
with as much haste as was possible without 
exciting undue attention, towards his own resi- 
dence. 

There a scene of some interest was in process 
of enactment. In the private dressing-room of 
the Lady of Argyle the marchioness and her 
daughter were for the moment alone. The an- 
ticipated event of the afternoon, it was evident, 
was the momentous subject in the thoughts of 
both. Anne, pale and tremulous, with more than 
a suspicion of wetness in the dark circles of her 
eyes, was kneeling at her mother’s feet, and the 
quivering corners of her mouth wore an expres- 
sion of piteous pleading. The elder lady, her 
hand laid gently on her daughter’s forehead, was 
looking down with features in which natural ten- 
derness and compassion seemed curiously blended 
with the strong notions of parental and filial duty 
current at that time. It was one of those mo- 
ments, rare even in the close relations of domestic 
life, when, at the white heat of real feeling, heart 
opens to heart without disguise, and the last worth 
and reliance of affection find their proof. 

“ We are in the hands of God,” the marchion- 
ess was saying, ‘‘ and it is but ill done to repine 
at His dispensation. Few, alas! in this sorrowful 
world can hope to gang their ain gate even in the 


Bnne of 


283 


dearest things of life, though it takes mair winters 
than have whitened yet on your young head to 
find that out. She would be wise who knew how 
few o’ the noble ladies that have been queens of 
Scotland were wedded to the secret desire of their 
hearts, though they sat on the Scottish throne ; 
yet they have been true helpmeets according to 
their lights. I would have ye think that, in the 
great place it is given you to fill, ye may become 
an instrument of the Divine Providence to bring 
peace and the true faith of the Covenant upon 
this distracted realm. And indeed the young 
Prince ” 

“ Oh, mother ! ” 

At the mention of her affianced consort Anne 
covered her face with her hands in passionate 
distress. 

My sweet, sweet bairn,” exclaimed the mar- 
chioness, with mixed affection and remonstrance 
in her voice ; ilk ane has her weird to dree, and 
weel ye ken I would turn back this day’s act if 
that were possible. But all has been said that 
can be said, and it’s sair sorrowing for what canna 
but come. It would seem to be the finger of 
Providence, or Heaven would have set a seal 
against it ere now. And it is the will of your 
father, obedience to whom, I maun still remind 
you, is the first commandment with promise,” 


284 


Bnne of Brg^le» 


Here the Lady of Argyle took her daughter in 
her arms, and, with a demonstration of affection 
which was then even rarer between members of 
a family than it has become between comparative 
strangers, pressed a kiss of compassionate tender- 
ness and reassurance on her brow. 

At that moment the door of the dressing-room, 
or boudoir as it would now be called, opened, and 
discovered the person of Argyle himself. 

I am glad, madam,” he said, “ to hear you 
school our daughter to so reasonable a consist- 
ence, the more so that within the next few hours 
the fortunes, not only of our house, but of the 
kingdom itself, may hang upon this matter.” 

Upon the appearance of the husband and father 
a curious change had taken place in the demeanor 
both of the marchioness and of Lady Anne. The 
latter had started back from her mother’s embrace, 
and stood regarding her sterner parent with ap- 
prehension in her eyes and a hectic flush on her 
cheek. The marchioness, on the other hand, the 
affectionate softness of a moment previous fading 
from her manner, turned to face her husband with 
something of the aspect with which a tigress 
might be supposed to face the hunter in her 
den. 

“ These are bodeful words,” she said, “ to come 
from the lips of Argyle, It is fit, however, that 


Bnne ot Brs^le. 


285 

they should be nothing less than truth, when so 
dear a price must be paid for the bargain. My 
lord, again I maun ask you if there be not yet 
time to play the game with other counters than 
our daughter’s happiness ? ” 

At these words there flitted over Argyle’s 
features an expression as nearly as might be 
approaching a smile. 

Weighty purposes of State, madam,” he an- 
swered, “ are hardly to be turned aside for the 
wanton notions of a girl, to whom, I would re- 
mind you, dutiful obedience is like, after all, by 
the blessing of Heaven, to bring the most lasting 
happiness. But the time is past for discussing 
such subjects ; momentous issues — my own life ” 
— here Argyle paled and perceptibly faltered — 
depend upon the transaction of this day ; and I 
am come hither myself personally to inform you 
that, for urgent reasons, the hour of the ceremony 
has been hastened. It will now take place at 
two instead of three of the clock.” 

To this announcement the Lady of Argyle 
made no reply, but as the marquis left the apart- 
ment she sank into a chair and looked anxiously 
at her daughter. 

Upon Anne herself the effect of her father’s 
words had been somewhat strange. She had 
heard what was said with perfect distinctness, but, 


286 


Bnne of 


like one whom a blow has deprived of all nervous 
sensation, she seemed to hear without feeling, and 
she now moved and spoke with a mechanical 
calmness, the outward sign of a stupefaction 
which might have been mistaken for resignation. 
Her face, however, had become, with the excep- 
tion only of her lips, a deadly white. 

She was no less pale, but also no less mechan- 
ically self-possessed when, two hours later, she 
stepped, leaning on her father’s arm, through the 
chancel of the ancient church of St. John, which 
had been selected for the marriage. 

As the ceremony was to be kept strictly private 
meanwhile — a provision of the shrewd and cau- 
tious Argyle — there were but few persons in the 
church. These few, among whom could be dis- 
tinguished Charles himself, were grouped in the 
open space immediately in front of the high 
pulpit ; and, in spite of the silence and emptiness 
of the sacred edifice behind them, they presented 
rather a brilliant and distinguished appearance. 
The Court for the occasion had thrown off the 
sombre and gloomy air to which it had of late, for 
peace’s sake, been compelled by the sermons and 
lectures of the Presbyterian ministers; and such 
wardrobes and decorations as could be mustered had 
been donned to do honor to the happy, if somewhat 
peculiar, circumstance of the hour. Among the 


Bnne ot 


287 

rest, Malignants and Presbyterians, notwithstand- 
ing Parliamentary mandates of exile, and the de- 
nunciations of the Assembly, the Duke of Buck- 
ingham was there, gay and careless, and ready at 
a pinch, or even without it, to carry off the bride 
himself if she should prove fair enough. But 
most gallant of all, as became a royal bridegroom, 
appeared Charles himself, his coat and stockings 
of carnation silk, richly laced and embroidered, 
his ruffles of the finest point-lace, his vest and 
breeches of white satin with gold buckles in his 
satin shoes, and the star of the Order of the 
Garter glittering on his breast. 

At once, upon catching sight of the Lady Anne, 
he came forward and with the utmost courtesy 
led her to her place, contriving by the way to 
convey to her a whisper which brought the light 
once more to her eyes and the color fora moment 
to her cheek. 

In another moment the minister, the Rev. 
Robert Douglas, the same who afterwards preached 
Charles’s coronation sermon at Scone, proceeded 
in a solemn voice to open the simple form of 
marriage service customary in Scotland. 

The sacrament of marriage ” 

He got no further. Just then the clank of 
spurs and the clash of a sword were heard on the 
pavement of the church, and a rider, with blood 


288 


Bnne of 


on his cuirass, and spattered from head to heel 
with the mud of lanes and roads, staggered rather 
than walked towards the astonished wedding- 
party. The new-comer had parted with some of 
his heavy armor, but he still wore his breastplate, 
and his helmet effectually concealed his face. 

The King himself stepped forward. 

“You bring tidings from General Leslie ? ” he 
asked ; and there was a breathless pause as the 
stranger replied — 

“ The Presbyterian army was at daybreak this 
morning totally routed near Broxmouth, a mile 
and a half beyond Dunbar.” 

At this intimation there was a visible stir of 
sensation in the group under the pulpit. Each 
stared apprehensively at his neighbor, and for a 
full minute not a word was said, the minister him- 
self pausing, perturbed by the tidings. 

At last Argyle spoke, laying on the King’s 
sleeve a hand which shook in spite of his utmost 
effort. 

“ The disaster is by no means irremediable, I 
would assure your Majesty, and it were well that 
our present business be meanwhile proceeded 
with.” 

“ I think not,” dryly returned the King. “ In- 
deed,” he added, “ I have little mind by so close 
an alliance to draw down upon so staunch a friend 


Bnne of 


289 

as my lord Marquis of Argyle the penalty which 
is soon likely enough to overtake my own head.” 

“ Parfoi ! ” said his Grace of Buckingham, join- 
ing in with a smile and a shrug of his handsome 
shoulders. “ It seems to me, my liege, as if the 
bride were of a like mind to your Majesty.” 

The duke had good reason for his words, for at 
this point the little group, recalled to the more 
immediate proceedings of the occasion, and turn- 
ing to resume their attention, discovered to their 
immense surprise, that in the confusion, and aided 
by the heavy, outstanding architecture of the 
church in which they stood, the Lady Anne and 
the bearer of news from the field of battle had 
both disappeared. 

19 


290 


Bnne of Brsgle* 


CHAPTER XXII. 

Meantime far hind, out ower the lea, 

Fu’ snug in a glen where nane could see. 

The twa, wi’ kindly sport and glee. 

Cut frae a new cheese a whang. 

“ The Gaberlunzietnan^'* 

We must ask the reader to pass with us over the 
events of the next few months — months of stress 
and foreboding in Scotland. 

On the first of January, notwithstanding the 
presence of the victorious English army in the 
kingdom, Charles had been crowned, with all the 
ancient ceremonial, at Scone, the diadem being 
placed on his head by the hands of Argyle him- 
self. Shortly afterwards, assuming a more vigor- 
ous share in the actual government of the country, 
the King had taken command of the army in 
person. For more than a month after entering 
the field, so skilfully were his troops posted, he 
had kept the English forces in check near Stirling, 
and it was only at last by the baseness of one of 
his officers in Fife, who suffered an English de- 


Bnnc of 


291 


tachment to effect a lodgment there and cut off 
the royal supplies and communications, that 
Charles had lately been reduced to a critical situ- 
ation. In this difficulty, the actual subsistence 
of his army rendered precarious by the footing 
which the enemy had secured in his rear, the 
King had found himself compelled to assume a 
more active and aggressive policy than prudence 
would otherwise have advised. With a view to 
bringing matters to the immediate issue of a battle, 
he had despatched a sudden and urgent summons 
to all within reach, who were well-affected to the 
royal cause, to join his standard without delay. 
The chiefs of certain clans especially, who might 
be able to bring a considerable number of men in- 
to the field, had been enjoined to use their utmost 
personal influence ; and among others dismissed 
hastily from the camp upon this somewhat peril- 
ous errand was the young chief of the Grahams. 

Meanwhile, during all those months, the ut- 
most efforts of Argyle had failed to obtain 
tidings of his daughter. Whatever suspicions he 
may have had of the complicity of Charles him- 
self in her disappearance, these received no 
countenance from the demeanor of the young 
monarch, who seemed every whit as surprised 
and curious regarding the vanishing of his in- 
tended bride as her father could possibly be. 


292 


:annc of 


The fact was that Argyle, like other over-politic 
schemers, who occasionally find the fact out to 
their cost, had in this matter met his match, and 
been defeated with his own weapons. No one 
in the city or in the church had recognized the 
mud-splashed and blood-stained bearer of tidings 
from the battle-field, and when Montrose a few 
days later appeared at Court among other sur- 
vivors of the campaign, his arrival was regarded 
as a matter of course, and his reported valor in 
the field was the only thing about him that ex- 
cited comment. The flight of the Lady Anne 
could be traced no farther than the gates of Perth, 
out of which, it was ascertained, a veiled female 
answering to her description had ridden a few 
minutes after the disappearance from the church, 
accompanied by two well-mounted cavaliers. 
Beyond this no information could be obtained. 

Early on the particular Monday morning to 
which we would now draw the reader’s attention, 
the inquiries set on foot by Argyle regarding his 
daughter formed the subject of conversation of 
two riders hastily approaching Glasgow from 
the eastward. 

The foremost of the two, attired in the dress of 
a dealer who might be coming to town to arrange 
the sale of some cattle, would scarcely have been 
recognized without at least a second glance as 


Bnne of Bcsijle* 


m 


the same young Cavalier who had been the un- 
willing cause of popular disturbance in the cathe- 
dral precincts a year earlier. Months of cam- 
paigning had bronzed his features, hardened his 
physique, and given a firmer assurance to his 
voice and bearing. His companion, in the hod- 
den gray suit and blue Kilmarnock bonnet, some- 
what worse for wear, of a muirland drover, might 
have been still more difficult to recognize as the 
former rescuer of the young nobleman — the in- 
domitable Neil Guthrie. 

And so,” Montrose was saying, with a glance 
of inquiry, “ you think those good people are 
still to be trusted, notwithstanding the reward 
offered and the constant fear of discovery ? ” 

I’ll stake my head,” answered Guthrie, boldly, 
** that my lady is safe i’ the keeping of Bessie 
Frew ; and as for discovery. Clan Campbell will 
send far ere they seek for her i’ the Bishop’s 
Castle o’ Glasgow.” 

“ Unless,” returned the young nobleman with 
a twinkle in his eye, some Campbell sweetheart 
perchance come whistling o’ nights under the 
fair Bessie’s window, and discover the Lady of 
Montrose as Neil Guthrie discovered Montrose 
himself.” 

“ It’s a feat that,” answered Guthrie, stoutly, 
'' that’s like to cost the Campbell dear that tries it. 


294 


Bnnc of Brgsle. 


Bessie’s a true lass since she cam’ to her senses ; 
and foreby that ” — here the hardy rider looked a 
trifle foolish — “ I was thinking, if your lordship 
was to be in Glasgow for an hour or two this 
morning, it might be a fair chance to set Bessie’s 
troth beyond dispute. There’s a kindly minister 
at hand i’ the Rottenrow who wad mak’ short 
shrift wi’ the matter in the circumstances.” 

Montrose smiled. “ Like master, like man ! ” 
he said to himself ; adding aloud : “ It would 

hardly become me, I suppose, to set an obstacle 
in the way of such an enterprise. Only I must 
remind you of the dangers of these times, and 
the risk of a stray bullet any fine morning mak- 
ing a man’s wife a widow.” 

“ The more reason,” replied Guthrie, energet- 
ically, “ that he shouldna waste time in making 
her his wife. It’s a risk, moreover, that the best 
maun bide, and a risk, to judge by the field of 
Dunbar, that is apt to be little regarded by the 
Chief of the Grahams.” 

At this home-thrust Montrose looked suddenly 
grave, and it was only after a moment’s pause 
that he spoke again. 

“ I wish you and your wife, at any rate, my 
good Guthrie,” he said, “ long life and the great- 
est happiness together. When these troublous 
times are over, I do not doubt of being able to 


Bnne of Srgigle. 


295 


make substantial proof of my good-will. At 
present I am sorry I can only ask you to accept 
what may suffice for a bridal trinket for your 
wife.” And slacking his pace somewhat, Mont- 
rose pressed a small rouleau of gold into his fol- 
lower’s hand. 

The latter had time for no more than a few 
hasty words of thanks, when the riders passed 
together through the Drygate port of Glasgow. 

There were English sentries at the gate, for, as 
it turned out, Cromwell had spent Sunday in the 
town, and had not yet returned to camp. But as 
the policy of the general was to appear every- 
where as far as possible friendly to the people, 
the soldiers had orders to interfere as little as 
might be with persons of apparently peaceful in- 
tentions and occupations. The two horsemen 
accordingly, under cover of their assumed char- 
acter, were allowed to pass without question. 
With a view to avoiding unnecessary observation 
Guthrie took the lead, and making use of his 
acquaintance with the less conspicuous thorough- 
fares of the town, piloted his companion pres- 
ently to the stable entrance at the rear of the 
Zion Inn. 

Some business had apparently drifted to that 
hostelrie since Guthrie’s last visit there. A half- 
ling ostler or two and several idlers of the pecu- 


Bnne of 


296 

liar species generally to be found in such a place 
were lounging about the yard, while the number 
of horses in the stalls made it evident that the 
Zion Inn no longer lacked custom. From the 
lad who helped him to stable and feed his own 
charges, Guthrie learned that a party of Crom- 
well’s officers were quartered in the house. This 
information, by way of precaution, he conveyed 
to Montrose, but at the same time, whispering 
that the passages were dark enough to prevent 
recognition if they were on their guard, he led 
the way by the narrow stone-paved entry he had 
made use of on a former occasion, towards the 
sanctum where his uncle, the landlord, was likely 
to be found. 

By a fortunate chance they encountered no 
one on their route, and at last, ascending a 
couple of steps to the left, Guthrie pushed open 
the door of Sandy Spigott’s private parlor. 

Verily the prayers of the righteous are an- 
swered ! ” 

The landlord himself, somewhat more rubi- 
cund, and certainly more rotund than when we 
first made his acquaintance, was, with his coat off 
and his back to the fire, in the act of setting 
down a bicker from which he had just drained his 
morning draught. But the words were not his. 
The expression came from a second individual 


Bnne of 


297 


in the apartment, whose health Spigott had pre- 
sumably been drinking, and the empty quaich 
in whose hand seemed to infer that the courtesy 
had been mutual. This person, in whom Mont- 
rose at once recognized with some surprise his 
quondam protege, Mr. Aaron Crookshanks, as- 
sumed at sight of the new-comers an attitude of 
startled amazement, though he took care to keep 
secure hold of the bottle of cordial spirits which 
he held on his arm. From his succeeding re- 
marks he appeared to attribute the bodily pres- 
ervation of the young nobleman before him, 
whom he had last seen rushing to what looked 
like certain destruction on the field of Dunbar, to 
the efficacy of his own prevailing intercessions 
with Heaven. 

** Heaven preserveth the preserver of the right- 
eous,” he exclaimed, “ and turneth away the edge 
of the sword from him that proclaimeth mercy. 
Verily, I render thanks that I have been able to 
repay with more than empty gratitude the inter- 
cessions of this goodly youth ! I bless God for 
the fact that my rescuer in the evil day still 
lives.” 

^‘That is a fact,” said Montrose with a grim 
smile, “regarding which you will still further 
show your gratitude by keeping a profound 
silence.” 


298 


Bnne of 


Since you particularly desire it,” answered 
Crookshanks, who, with an increase of the signs 
of prosperity in his appearance, seemed to have 
assumed an increase of blatancy in his address, 
“ I will hold my peace ; albeit it may prejudice 
the cause of righteousness that I hide under a 
bushel that which should be proclaimed from the 
house-tops. But I must even now hasten to per- 
form my errand, lest the preacher of the Word 
faint before the face of the ungodly.” 

And with an unctuous bow to Montrose and a 
familiar nod to the landlord, Crookshanks placed 
the bottle of strong waters out of sight in an 
inner pocket, and took himself from the company. 

“ What may be the present calling of your 
customer ? ” asked Montrose, a little later, when, 
after a characteristic greeting between Guthrie 
and his good uncle, the latter was hastening with 
his own hands to place before his Royalist guest 
the best the house could afford by way of morn- 
ing repast. 

“ That, your honor,” said Spigott, as after a 
steady pull he uncorked a flask of Burgundy, is 
a body o’ mair conceit than brains, Aaron Crook- 
shanks by name, wha, nevertheless, kens the in- 
side o’ the ongoings doun at the College near 
by, seeing he is beadle and valet to Dr. Zachary 
Boyd, the minister o’ the Heigh Kirk. An’ a 


Mmc of BrGsle. 


299 

bonnie cantrip he had just gi’en me the story o’ 
when your honor cam’ in.” 

Here, having filled his guest’s cup, and being 
invited to fill one for himself, mine host, after the 
manner of his calling, apparently felt himself 
bound to contribute to the amusement of the 
stranger in his parlor. 

''Your honor’s health!” he said, lifting the 
bicker to the level of his forehead with solemn 
abstraction. " As I was sayin’, it was a queer 
pliskie for a great man like the English general 
to play. Ye will hae seen that the streets are fu’ 
o’ the English louns — no’ that I hae a word to 
say against them, for some are in my ain house 
at this moment. But Cromwell himsel’ cam’ here 
frae Stirling on Saturday, and what does he do 
yesterday but walk up wi’ a wheen o’ his officers 
to service at the Heigh Kirk. Zachary Boyd 
was the preacher, a dour thresher out o’ the 
shortcomings o’ ither folk at the best o’ times ; but 
when he saw wha was in his audience. Crook- 
shanks declares, he fleeched ten times waur than 
ordinar’, misca’in’ Cromwell and his English offi- 
cers for a’ the Malignant brood o’ darkness 
itsel’. Cromwell ne’ertheless kept a calm sough, 
and hearkened him out, though they say ane o’ 
his officers sittin’ ahint him was for sendin’ a bul- 
let into the pu’pit mair than ance. But efter the 


300 


Bnne of 


service the general gangs hame to his lodging 
i’ the Sautmarket, and by and by he sends up a 
message to the College askin’ Dr. Boyd to come 
till him to supper. The Doctor went, wi’ the 
thocht, it seems, that he had made some impres- 
sion by his discourse, and that he might become 
the instrument o’ bringing the English general to 
anither mind on some particular points o’ doc- 
trine. But Cromwell said little o’ doctrine till 
efter supper, and then he put it that he was 
about to hae family worship, if Dr. Boyd wasna 
against taking part. Presently they got down on 
their knees, and Cromwell prayed, and he keepit 
the worthy doctor on his marrow banes for three 
hours, gie’in’ him ten times waur wi’ his tongue 
than he had gotten himsel’ i’ the mornin’ ; and 
when the prayer was done the doctor was broken 
i’ the hams and speechless, and had to be oxtered 
hame by Crookshanks and ane o’ the young Eng- 
lish officers. But ” — here mine host broke off 
his narrative and hastened to attend to the more 
material wants of his guest — ye surely arena 
breakfasted yet? There’s a bonnie bit o’ cauld 
lamb, black-faced, frae the Eaglesham moors; 
and the Burgundy’s no’ out.” 

It can be understood that neither Montrose 
nor Guthrie, however, were in the humor to lin- 
ger long over their repast, necessary as that was 





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after their long and rapid ride of the morning, and 
curious as might be their host's garrulous narra- 
tive of the retribution which had befallen the 
reverend firebrand of the cathedral pulpit. No 
sooner, therefore, were the imperious demands of 
appetite satisfied than they proceeded upon the 
errand which had been the sole reason for their 
entering the town. It was not many minutes, 
accordingly, after leaving Spigott to finish the 
flask of Burgundy by himself, when the two 
seeming rustics were making their way across 
the ruinous courtyard of the old Bishop’s 
Castle. 

Guthrie gave a peculiar knock at the door of 
the keeper’s lodging, and in a trice it was opened 
by Bessie Frew herself, looking fresher and more 
tempting than ever, if that were possible, in the 
morning air. At first she appeared alarmed at the 
unfamiliar figures who presented themselves be- 
fore her ; but in a moment she had seen through 
the disguise, and with a smile and courtesy to 
Montrose, and a glance at Guthrie which made 
that stout yeoman draw his hand down his mous- 
tache to conceal an expression of particular sat- 
isfaction, she admitted them, and forthwith led 
the way trippingly up the narrow stair. 

After ascending several rounds of the stone 
spiral she stopped at an iron-studded door on a 


302 


2lnne ot Uxq^Ic* 


narrow landing, and, first knocking gently, ushered 
Montrose into the chamber beyond. 

As she drew the door close again and turned to 
retrace her steps, the damsel found herself sud- 
denly caught in a pair of energetic arms and the 
life for a moment all but crushed out of her, while 
her feeble and but half-hearted efforts at remon- 
strance were smothered by a rough but warm 
caress upon her lips. 

Weel,” she exclaimed with a frown which was 
more than half a smile, when at length she was 
able somewhat to free herself, “ a bonnie while ye 
have been in coming back ! ” 

“ And a bonnie hurry I am in,” answered 
Guthrie, dauntlessly, now that I am here.” 

“ Eh, dear ! ” exclaimed Bessie at this, with 
some apprehension troubling her look, “ the lass 
has a weary time that has sic a restless seeker 
o’ danger for her sweetheart.” 

“ Listen to me, Bessie,” said Guthrie, gravely, 
needs must that we leave this place again in an 
hour, and it’s a far cry till the chance may come 
again. I want ye to wrap your plaid about ye, 
and we will step up to the Reverend Master Cun- 
ningham i’ the Rottenrow, and be made man and 
wife or the hour’s out.” 

At this sudden and startling request Bessie 
changed countenance and trembled a little, hang- 


Bnne of 


303 


ing her head in silence for seme moments, while 
a deep blush slowly covered her face and neck ; 
but at last she looked up, and there was a new 
light shining in her eyes as she spoke in a low, 
altered voice. 

“ Since you indeed wish it, Neil, I will come 
with you. I will just speak a word to my father 
first, and get my plaid.” 

Half an hour later Montrose was still sitting in 
the corner chamber of the tower. Beside him, 
her happiness in the presence of her lover only 
made more tender by the necessity of parting 
from him again so soon, sat — no longer Lady 
Anne Campbell of Argyle, but the young Mar- 
chioness of Montrose. For, to put their union 
beyond all question, they had been married on 
the day on which Montrose carried her off from 
her forced betrothal in the church at Perth. 
From the window where they sat they had ob- 
served Guthrie and Bessie Frew cross the cause- 
way towards Rottenrow, and Montrose under- 
stood that his follower was fulfilling the intention 
expressed an hour or two before. The couple, 
their mission, it might be presumed, accomplished, 
were now to be seen making their way back 
again. 

** And must you indeed be gone so very soon,” 
the young Lady of Montrose was saying, with 


304 


Bnne of nvQ^lc* 


something of reproach in her voice, ‘^and you 
know not how long, how exceeding long, it may 
be before we may meet again ? 

My love,” answered Montrose with a reassur- 
ing smile, “the King’s cause may any day be 
triumphant. In that case be certain that in a 
few hours I myself shall be the bearer hither of 
the good news. Meanwhile ” 

At this point a sound of commotion in the 
town, which had been increasing alarmingly for 
several minutes, assumed a distinct character. 
Groups of men-at-arms could be seen hastening 
in one particular direction, here and there a horse- 
man appeared urging his steed at the gallop, and 
above the other din the sound of bugle calls were 
clearly to be heard. 

Montrose, from the window, saw Guthrie de- 
tach himself from his new-made wife, and after 
apparently making inquiries at a knot of the 
townspeople, come hurrying towards the castle. 
Anxiously the young nobleman awaited the in- 
telligence, whatever it might be, which gave rise 
to so much military preparation. Nor was he 
long kept in suspense. Mounting the turret stair 
three or four steps at a time, Guthrie wasted no 
words in prefacing his news. 

“ The King has broken up camp before Stirling, 
and is already in full march towards the Border. 


%in\xc of BrGsle, 


305 

The English troops in Glasgow are under orders 
to march within the hour.” 

Montrose turned to his wife with mingled 
excitement and tenderness. 

“ I must be gone, dear wife,” he said. 

At the announcement the eyes of Anne filled 
with sudden tears. In another moment, how- 
ever, she recovered herself. 

“ Go then, my lord,” she said, “ and I will pray 
every hour that God may keep you. But come 

back before very long, for — for ” Here her 

face was suffused with rosy blushes, and leaning 
her head on her husband’s breast, she spoke in 
a whisper. 

The young husband bent down, caught his 
wife in his arms and pressed a passionate kiss on 
her lips. In another moment he was gone. 

***** 

Few words are needed to complete what has to 
be said. The pressure of necessity had compelled 
Charles to break up camp much sooner than he 
had intended, and long before the expected ac- 
cession to his forces could arrive. Owing to the 
rapidity of the King’s movements Montrose did 
not succeed in coming up with the Royalist 
troops before the disastrous defeat at Worcester, 
20 


Bnne of Biggie, 


306 

which put an end to the royal pretensions in 
England for the time. Neither did he fall into 
the hands of any of the search parties of the 
Independents who after the battle scoured the 
country for many weeks. On the contrary, after 
joining with several other noblemen in an in- 
effectual effort once more to raise the standard 
of Charles in Scotland, he succeeded in withdraw- 
ing with his young wife, and joining the King in 
Holland. Upon the Restoration in 1662 he was 
among those who were triumphantly restored to 
their honors and estates. His return to Scotland 
with his wife and young family did not, however, 
happen until a terrible fate, the result of his crafty 
ambition, and the reward for the part which he 
had taken in the death of Charles I., had ended 
the life of Argyle,* Shortly after Montrose’s 
return to his family possessions Neil Guthrie was 
duly installed in the honorable and no longer 
sinecure position of factor, and his wife having 


* When there was a proposal recently to erect a monument in 
Edinburgh to the Marquis of Argyle, the Marquis of Lome 
furnished an American correspondent with a piece of information 
of peculiar interest. His lordship, it appears, during the repair 
of some tombs lately in the old chapel, the family burying-place, 
at Kilmun on Holy Loch, came upon the head of the executed 
marquis, the skull showing the hole by which it had been pierced 
by the pike on which it was impaled on the top of the gate. 


Bnnc of Brs^le* 


307 

inherited the greater part of the independence 
and effects of her aunt, the worthy Mrs. Murdoch 
of the Netherbow, he had every reason to con- 
sider himself a fortunate man, as fortune goes 
in this life. 


THE END. 



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